


To Know Who I Am

by firefly124



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 157,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly124/pseuds/firefly124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over six years since the fall of Voldemort and Professor Sprout has retired. There is something strange about the new Herbology teacher, and Professor Snape is determined to find out what. Trouble seems to follow her, or is it his past seeking him out? And then there's a prophecy. Isn't there always a prophecy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my alpha readers, [bluedolfyn](http://bluedolfyn.livejournal.com) and [willow_kat](http://willow-kat.livejournal.com), who have encouraged me to actually finish this, to my amazing beta, [ubiquirk](http://ubiquirk.livejournal.com),who has helped to make this much better than it was and also made the lovely banner, to my Brit-picker, [saracen77](http://saracen77.livejournal.com), who has made sure I don't make British people speak or act like Americans, and to [camillo1978](http://camillo1978.livejournal.com) for the beautiful artwork at the end of chapter 6. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.

  


_I don’t want the world to see me,  
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.  
When everything’s made to be broken,  
I just want you to know who I am.  
\-- “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls_

The Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was just a wee bit overwhelming. Okay, it was a tossup whether it would be more overwhelming in a couple of hours when it would be full of hundreds of kids. Still, it was an insanely long walk up to that table where she would meet the rest of her new colleagues, who had all arrived before her, some by as much as a week. Not that she could have come sooner. There were way too many things she had needed to handle before coming here. It was a miracle she’d finished her lesson plans and owled them in for the August twenty-fifth deadline. Okay, not a miracle. Just a bit of unorthodox magic.

At least she felt a little less conspicuous next to Hagrid. Well, anybody would be less conspicuous next to Hagrid.

 _It’s not like they’d be staring at him,_ she thought. _But it beats walking in here al… wow, it really does look like the sky._ She’d heard about the enchanted ceiling, but had not visited the Great Hall the one other time she had been up to the school before today. There were unlit candles floating in the air, too, presumably to be lit later on. _Sure, let’s just use massive amounts of magic for something we won’t be using until later. And, you know, the ceiling’s pretty, but not exactly essential. I am_ so _not in Kansas anymore. Not that I’ve ever been to Kansas._

As she arrived at the dais where all of the faculty sat at their table, Headmistress McGonagall rose and stepped around the long table to greet her.

“Thank you for bringing in our new colleague, Hagrid,” McGonagall said. She turned and led her new teacher to meet the others. “Everyone, this is our new Herbology professor, Celia Reese. She comes to us from the United States and is very highly recommended by an old friend of mine.”

Celia noted with interest that the Headmistress did not name her reference. Well, it was always possible they might recognize the name and, for whatever obscure reason, her mission here was being kept under wraps.

“Your new colleagues,” the Headmistress continued. “Professor Sybill Trelawney, Divination.”

Celia instinctively held out her hand for a shake, and found it instead being turned over and examined.

“Such a strong hand!” Professor Trelawney began.

“Yes, well, a bit of weeding will toughen the skin up,” Celia said with a faint laugh, snatching her hand back. _Like I want to be read!_

She just barely kept from rolling her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Professor Trelawney looked like a puppy who just had her favorite toy taken away, but at least she wasn’t actually whining.

“Professor Firenze, also Divination,” McGonagall was saying, and Celia turned her attention to the centaur. This time she kept her hands clasped behind her back and merely smiled, nodded, and responded to the fairly generic “Pleased to meet you.”

In fact, she found that worked fairly well for most of the rest of the introductions. She should have realized handshakes weren’t the way things were done here, at least for ladies. She wasn’t used to thinking of herself as a “lady.” For that matter, she could think of quite a few people who would find the idea fatally hysterical.

“Professor Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said the Headmistress.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Professor Potter. She did her smile, nod, and echo routine, but then found it interrupted as he continued with a grin, “It’ll be a nice change to no longer be the youngest on the faculty.”

“Only by a couple of months,” she replied, raising her eyebrows to indicate she didn’t think that ought to mean much at all. _Not even. Six weeks. Never mind that you were all saving the world from Big Bad Voldemort when I was just getting my powers. I wasn’t the only one just getting my powers that day, and I’ll bet any one of us could take you. Okay, what am I, five? Good going. Send myself back to preschool when I should be projecting how I’m totally your equal. I’m still smiling, right?_

“Still,” he was saying, “even a contemporary is a novelty for me.”

She pasted the smile more firmly on her face, nodded, and moved on to the next introduction. And the next. And the next. The end of the table loomed into view. Almost literally.

“Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Deputy Headmaster,” McGonagall said.

 _Right, this would be the one I was warned about. Shields up, then, not that they weren’t already. Smile, nod, look him in the eye, Reese._

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, though he obviously wasn’t, unless you were looking up “pleased” in some alternate universe’s dictionary where “pleased” meant “something in here smells seriously rank.”

“As am I,” she replied steadily. No pressure against her mind, which was good. She supposed he really wouldn’t have any reason to go poking around. Yet. And apparently he didn’t just randomly Legilimize new people. It would be quite easy to fall into the hypnotic depths of those eyes and become vulnerable, though. An odd shiver ran down her spine, which she completely ignored. _Move along. Move along._

Except she couldn’t move along because Headmistress McGonagall was wrapping up the introductions. “And of course you’ve already met Hagrid,” she said, waving Celia to the empty seat between Hagrid and Professor Snape.

 _Perfect. Just … perfect._

Somehow, she made it through the faculty meeting that followed. It seemed kind of odd to hold one in this large room and all stretched out over a long table, but apparently a charm of some sort was making it easier to hear one another than she would have expected. At least this way they were already here before the students arrived, rather than having to all trek over from some other place, considering you couldn’t Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Professor Aurora Sinistra was announced as the new Head of Hufflepuff. Celia hadn’t realized that her predecessor had held that job as well. Professor Sprout must not have lived in the cottage next to the greenhouses, then. From the sound of it, the Heads of the Houses had to be a lot more accessible for midnight emergencies than that.

Some stuff about the new Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, and patrolling schedules, and then Hagrid excused himself to go into Hogsmeade to meet the train and the rest began talking about their summers. Some of them had gone to some seriously cool places! She demurely mentioned that she had largely spent the summer months working on some hybridization research, hoping that would be enough to get her off the hook. Sadly, it was not.

“Really? What sort of research?” asked the diminutive Professor Flitwick.

“Well, there are certain potions that I think might be more effective, or variants that might become possible, if certain plants were crossbred rather than added individually.” At his encouraging nod, she continued, “My particular focus is on a set of ingredients for a pair of dream potions, one to suppress prescient dreams, and another to facilitate working with such dreams after the fact.” _There, that should do it, right?_ At least she’d said nothing that was not already known to anyone who cared to check out ongoing Herbology research projects. _And that’s approximately fifty people on the entire planet, if that._

Instead, she found herself once again the focus of those arresting eyes beside her. They looked astonishingly cold. _Oh, hell. I’ve stepped right into a conversational minefield,_ she barely had time to think. _And I_ so _should have known._

“Really,” Professor Snape drawled. “And whatever gave you the idea that it would be possible to suppress that particular type of dream?”

“Actually,” she replied, steeling herself, “the idea came to me from a letter on another subject entirely in _The International Journal of Potions_. I’m sure you can appreciate that the ingredients for such a potion are intuitively obvious, except for the fact that they do not interact well, or in fact at all, when combined in a potion together. Nor can the effect be achieved by using each in its own potion and taking them separately. The author of this letter seemed quite convinced – stated quite vehemently, in fact – that the only way certain herbs would ever work in the complementary fashion one might hope for, would be to alter their basic genetic structure. I rather thought he was on to something.” She had also kind of thought there had been no need for being so rude when commenting on another researcher’s article, but considering the way he was sneering at her right now, maybe he’d thought the letter had passed for polite and professional. Actually, for him it probably _was_ polite and professional. Not that she’d had any plan to get into such a conversation, with him of all people, but she was moderately happy that she appeared to be holding her own.

  


“I see,” Snape said, eyes narrowed. No, he did not appear pleased at all to hear his own words quoted back at him. Except, you know, back in that pleased-equals-stinky alternate universe.

Finally, the first wave of students for the Welcoming Feast roared in. Not exactly saved by the bell, but it’d do.

~ ~ ~

The feast itself had been fascinating. How did they manage to serve up that much food and still have it taste good? Okay, magic, but still. The Sorting process was amusing, but she still wasn’t crazy about the basic idea. Defining kids’ whole personalities when they’re eleven? Well, she supposed it was something she’d have to get used to. At least she hadn’t allowed the Headmistress to talk her into getting Sorted back when she was first hired.

On the way back to her cottage, she decided to have a look through each of the greenhouses. It wasn’t that she didn’t know which ones had which plants, or which classes would be in which. She’d been through them all this afternoon. Still, she wished she could have arrived a week or even a day earlier, to have a more thorough feel for her botanical charges before introducing her human charges to them.

She felt like she was being watched as she reached the last greenhouse, the one attached directly to her cottage and containing her experimental plants as well as some of the more dangerous herbs she was expected to maintain for use in the Potions classes and hospital wing. Looking around, and then up at the castle looming overhead, she saw nothing. Just the sense of being in a still-unfamiliar place, maybe? She shrugged and went inside.

~ ~ ~

Professor Snape was not impressed by Pomona Sprout’s successor. True, she was not quite as young as he had been when he had first begun teaching at Hogwarts, but that had been a rather different situation. His first thought, upon being introduced to her, was _The students here will eat her alive._ His second thought, however, was that there was something quite different about her. Not just that she was an American, although that was certainly a count against her, but something odd in the way she had held herself when they were introduced. Then again, their later conversation proved she knew at least a bit about him, so perhaps that was all it had been.

After she had left the Great Hall, he had gone to the South Wing of the castle to see if anything else about her appeared odd. Old instincts, he supposed. All she had done, however, was to go through the greenhouses on her way to the cottage. He supposed it was not all that strange that she had chosen to have her quarters in the Herbology cottage. Pomona had often said she would prefer to be outside the castle if her duties had allowed it. He imagined Herbologists must have a preference for dwellings that allowed more sunlight than an ancient castle.

What did surprise him was when she paused before entering the last greenhouse and whipped her head around and then up, as if she knew she was being watched. She was, of course, but how had she known? He drew back from the window just before her eyes scanned over it and then watched as she apparently dismissed her concern and went inside.

~ ~ ~

Inside her cottage, Professor Reese took off her teaching robes and hung them carefully. She only had two sets: one for school days and one, slightly more casual, for weekends. Both were in earth tones of green and brown, which seemed appropriate for her subject and would hide any grass stains and soil nicely between Cleansing Charms. It had been a difficult decision which to wear today, and she had finally decided upon the school-day set. Really, for the Welcoming Feast, her choices were either those or something even more formal, and that was clearly “not done.” She sighed.

 _So much to get used to here._

She rechecked her parchments for tomorrow’s classes and placed them on the coffee table in her “sitting room.” What else could you call it? It had a small couch and a coffee table, as well as the desk and chair, so obviously it was supposed to be more than a study. She’d probably only ever use it for a study, though.

Looking at the fireplace, she thought about trying out the Floo. Most of the fireplaces at Hogwarts were connected only to the internal Floo network for travel, but could also be used for external communication. Hers was one of the few that could be used for external travel as well, but she hoped she wouldn’t need to use it for that. There was no reason to expect things would ever go that badly. For now, it was probably a little late for a Floo-call. It was late here, making it an hour past late in Hamburg. Too bad none of the people she might want to call were in the States at the moment; then the time difference would work in her favor.

She sank down onto the couch, instead, and started undoing the knot she had put her chestnut hair into for the meeting and feast. Why she bothered keeping it long when she had to keep it braided and up out of the way was a mystery to her, but she didn’t like the idea of cutting it. Besides, if she were in a rush, there would be no repercussions for using magic to deal with it here. In fact, it would probably be a good idea to get into the habit of using magic for everyday things soon. Now, even.

Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at the desk, and Summoned a piece of parchment, a quill, and a jar of ink. Maybe she should also get into the habit of speaking spells out loud even when she wasn’t specifically teaching them. She rarely did, unless for some reason she needed to conserve the extra energy used for nonverbal spells. That would be something to ask Minerva. She wasn’t sure Hagrid would know. He had admitted he wasn’t supposed to use magic at all despite having been cleared a long time ago of the crime he he’d been expelled for in his third year.

Filing that question away for later, she began to write.

>   
> _G.  
>  How are things in Hamburg? If you’re still sniffling, there should be more Pepper-Up in the storage room. No, I haven’t found a way to deal with the smoke. Not high on the priority list. Deal.  
> I seem to be settling in fairly well. The Welcoming Feast was nothing short of amazing. I’m still not crazy for the way they Sort the students. Yeah, yeah, my school had “houses” of a kind, but they were based on academic track, not personality traits that can’t possibly be as cut and dry as everyone tries to make them sound. No, I still haven’t put that raggedy hat on my head. What could it possibly matter what House I’d have been in if I’d been a student? Better that I don’t have any reason to subconsciously favor any one batch of kids. Bad enough it’ll seem like I have a pet eventually.  
> Classes start in the morning. You’re going to regret telling me to keep in touch. I’m so going to be asking a thousand and one questions on how not to be an “ugly American.” I think I’ve done all right so far. The one person I managed to offend probably gets offended by anyone breathing too loudly – or possibly at all. I know you told me to try and stay clear of him, but Minerva’s stuck me between him and Hagrid at the table, and it sounds like the seating doesn’t change often, if ever. So that should be interesting.  
> Even more interesting is that I’m realizing this is already the longest continuous period of time I’ve spent in the wizarding world, and it’s only been twelve hours. No ill effects to being around so much magic that I can see, but it’s going to be a while before I’m completely comfortable using it for just anything. Oh well. That will just show my Muggle upbringing, which isn’t the worst thing. Might even be a useful distraction.  
> Are you sure there’s no way to hook up my laptop here? E-mail would be so much more convenient than owls and fireplaces.  
> Yours truly,  
> C. _   
> 

Celia waved her hand over the wet ink, then snorted and cast a Drying Charm. Rolling it up, she decided it would be easy enough to detour to the owlery before breakfast. Probably the best idea, really, so no one else would likely be around. With a stretch and a yawn, she got up and took the approximately two and a half steps required to cross to her bedroom door. She looked around the quaint little cottage. It was tiny, but better than many of the apartments she had lived in, and probably warmer than the castle, come winter. She smiled. While she had a lot of adapting to do, that was something she had always done well, and once she got the hang of it, it should be a treat not to have to hide her magic.

She turned and went in to bed, closing the door softly behind her.

~ ~ ~ 

Professor Snape swept into the Great Hall and strode past the Slytherin table on the way to the staff table. Most of the older students were present, and all of the N.E.W.T.-level students. The first-years were, of course, the least well-represented. They would learn the value of early rising soon enough if they truly had the requisite ambition.

He nodded to Hagrid before passing behind him and the empty Herbologist’s chair to reach his own seat. He regretted for a moment that this was the spot that gave him the best angle of vision over the Slytherin table. If not for that, this would be the perfect year to acquiesce to Minerva’s insistence that the Deputy Headmaster should actually be sitting at the right hand of the Headmistress. Being sandwiched between Pomona Sprout and Septima Vector had always been annoying at the later meals, as they would talk across him about the most absurd subjects, but they were blessedly quiet at breakfast. This new teacher was an unknown quantity and quite possibly the sort who would be bright and cheerful in the morning.

Then again, she was also late, so perhaps she either was not a “morning person” or else preferred to spend her pre-class time working with her doomed experimental plants.

A disturbance at the Slytherin table caught his attention. A disturbance that quickly quieted down when one of the miscreants realized they were being watched by their Head of House. He might still favor his own House, as all of the other Heads did to some extent, but it had been years since he had turned a blind eye to misbehavior among the Slytherins. One or two first-years with siblings who had left Hogwarts before the end of the war always appeared to think they would still be treated as above the law, and often the older students would egg them on, which looked to be what was happening now. Unfortunately, he could not determine who had done what to whose breakfast first. Fortunately, he still had no objection to simply disciplining all involved with no regard for such trivialities. All three would have detention on their first day of classes.

“Good morning, Hagrid. Professor Snape,” an accented feminine voice said from his left. He turned to offer a curt nod in reply and then returned his attention to his breakfast. There was no point in encouraging conversation in which he did not desire to participate.

“Mornin’, Celia,” Hagrid replied. “Sleep well?”

“Like a log. I’m already beginning to feel spoiled rotten, too. One of the house-elves, Lulu I think her name was, has already scolded me for making my own bed.”

The half-giant snorted.

“Yeah, they’ll do tha’,” he said.

Professor Snape dearly hoped they would both just eat their breakfasts and be quiet now. He took it as a hopeful sign when Professor Reese picked up her pumpkin juice and took a large sip. That hope was lost, but replaced with amusement, when her eyes appeared to swell to twice their normal size and she swallowed her juice as though it were the vilest potion ever concocted.

“Is there something wrong, Professor Reese?” he asked mildly.

“I did warn ye, Celia,” Hagrid said at the same time.

“It’s orange, it’s juice, and it’s breakfast,” she replied, apparently to both of them while clearly trying to erase the grotesque expression from her features. “It was an honest mistake before coffee.” She peered into her empty teacup. “It _is_ possible to have coffee, right?”

“Sure,” Hagrid replied. “Mos’ like their tea, bu’ all ye have to do is say what ye want over t’ cup.”

“Is pumpkin juice not a common morning beverage in the Americas?” Snape asked before he could remind himself he did not want to _have_ conversations at breakfast.

“Not where I’m from,” she answered. “Our orange breakfast juice actually comes from oranges. I was a bit surprised when Hagrid told me how fond of pumpkin juice the British wizarding community is, considering they’re a New World plant. On our side of the pond we tend to stick with making pies and breads out of them.”

Snape made a noncommittal noise in his throat and took a sip of tea to excuse himself from further comment. Clearly he was not to be allowed to finish his breakfast in peace, and the woman was now poking at her breakfast plate with an expression caught halfway between confusion and disgust.

“And this is …?” The expression on her face suggested she already had a fair idea.

“Black puddin’,” Hagrid supplied. “Don’ think you folks have tha’, either.”

“No.” She pulled another face. “We generally leave the blood-as-food thing to the vampires.”

From the corner of his eye, Snape saw her slide the slice of pudding to the edge of her plate. He also noticed Hagrid shooting her an aggrieved look and was slightly startled. Was he offended? Snape bristled on the half-giant’s behalf, but before he could say anything, the irritating American was already speaking.

“It’s just more culture shock, is all, Hagrid, don’t worry. Well, that and nerves, I guess.”

Hagrid snorted. “Ye can’ be scared of a bunch o’ eleven year-old kids, now, can ye?”

“Heh, I’d trade them for a nice simple two-headed dragon at the moment. Unarmed. No, it’s just first-day nerves. And really, it’s not the first-years that worry me so much. All their teachers are new today. It’s the ones who are disappointed not to have Professor Sprout back.”

Hagrid nodded sagely. “I worried abou’ the same thing when I took over fer Professor Kettleburn.”

“How did that go?”

Hagrid appeared uncomfortable again. Was the woman deliberately needling him or just foolish?

“Well, I wouldn’ recommend jumpin’ in wi’ t’ mos’ int’restin’ stuff ye can think of, t’ get their attention. If they aren’ ready to take ye seriously yet, they migh’ get hurt from not listenin’.”

“Good advice,” she agreed. “Well, I wasn’t planning on introducing any seriously lethal plants to anyone below N.E.W.T. level this week, and they, at least, should have the sense to listen to precautions regardless of who is giving them by that point. I hope.”

Snape finally managed to tune out the remainder of the conversation as another case of first-year baiting arose at the Slytherin table. Interestingly, the first-year in question seemed to have avoided implicating himself, although the second-year student next to him was clearly trying to make it appear that the younger student had flung that bit of sausage at the Ravenclaw table. Both students finally looked up to the staff table and quailed under their Head of House’s glare. That settled the issue of detentions, then. If the boy was going to behave as though he were guilty, even if he were not, then he would serve detention as well. One had to learn to do better than that in Slytherin House.

~ ~ ~

She stood as straight as possible, willing herself to appear more than her five feet and three inches tall. As the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years clustered around the long central table were well under five feet themselves, this was probably unnecessary but felt like a good idea anyway.

“Good morning, class,” she called loudly from what she had decided would be the front of Greenhouse 1.

“Good morning, Professor Reese,” the students replied in something approaching unison.

“I imagine several of you are disappointed to be starting your magical education with plants, because you do not think they are very magical at all,” she began. “Others are probably horrified that the climbing roses behind me are actually climbing up the wall, because where you come from, roses just don’t do that sort of thing.” Some of the vines were, in fact, tangling up with one another and apparently wrestling for dominance. “You will be relieved to know that they are generally much better behaved than this in the wizarding world, so long as you do not overfeed them.” She had, of course, deliberately spiked their pots with extra nitrogen on her way to the owlery this morning for just this purpose. “Also, they will not leave the trellis they are climbing on, so unless you are very foolish and stick your hand amongst them, you have no reason to fear their thorns.”

She thought she saw a few sighs of relief and one or two mischievous looks. Oh well. If they insisted, a puncture from a thorn or two would get them over it real quick and with minimal damage.

“Some of the things you will learn this year are basic to all plants. Some are specific to magical plants. All of what I will teach you has the potential to be useful to you at some point in your life, whether you choose to become an Herbologist, a Healer, an Auror, or even if you choose a job that never involves plants or keep a garden of your own. You will learn plants to avoid, plants that have various magical and medicinal uses, and plants you can eat if you find yourself stuck in the middle of nowhere without a wand. You will learn little about plants that are simply interesting or ornamental, though if any of you particularly want to do so, you can do a side project about such plants for extra credit, subject to my approval.”

Looking out over the group, she saw a mixture of interest, disbelief, and boredom on their young faces. _More or less what I’d expected. I’m glad I got to start with the little ones._

“We’ll mostly focus on practical work during class, but I encourage you to bring any questions from the reading. Don’t be afraid to ask them. If you found something confusing, the odds are at least three of your classmates did as well, and it would be a good idea for _someone_ to bring it up. With that in mind, I expect you to read all of chapter one by our next class meeting and turn in a paragraph or two of your thoughts about it. You may include questions that occurred to you while you were reading, things you found surprising or interesting, or even that you found it deeply boring. The catch is that I want you to explain the reasons for whatever you write and give me some evidence that you have actually read the chapter.

“I don’t mind at all if you discuss the homework with your classmates.” _What is that I see? Shock? Disbelief? Think the new teacher is letting you cheat? Hah!_ “In fact, I encourage you to bounce ideas off each other. That’s an excellent way to learn. What I don’t want to see are homework parchments that appear to have been copied from each other. You learn nothing by simply copying someone else’s ideas. Yes, there are facts you will all need to learn, but you need to do your own thinking about those facts to really make the knowledge your own. To help keep you honest, I’ll be giving quizzes from time to time, without warning, so stay on top of your homework.”

She smiled at them and waved to the relatively tame and mostly Muggle plants before them.

“Now, let's get our hands dirty!"

~ ~ ~

“You,” he said slowly, deliberately, “are the few who have succeeded in obtaining a grade of Outstanding on your O.W.L. Potions exam.” He walked slowly across the front of the classroom, looking at each student in turn. “Some of you may believe this renders you among the elite. Some of you may think this means you have a natural predisposition for the exact art and subtle science that is potion-making. What you should realize is that you have passed the minimum standard necessary to _attempt_ N.E.W.T.-level Potions, nothing more. You are in no way guaranteed to pass this level. You will find this class more challenging than any you have taken with me thus far, and you will be brewing far more volatile potions and handling far more dangerous ingredients than you were allowed to in your first five years.”

Professor Snape turned on his heel and returned to the front of the dungeon classroom, drew his wand, and snapped it at the board, where a list of potions appeared.

“These are the potions you will be expected to brew this term. You will need to do more than follow your books as though they were simple cooking recipes,” he continued. “You must bring to bear all that you have learned in the last five years and apply it to the instructions as you read them.”

He saw several startled looks, most on the faces he had expected to display them: students whose essays had always shown their ability to memorize facts but little in the way of critical or creative thought.

“Today, you will begin by brewing the Draught of Living Death, which you will find on page ten of your books. If you are unable to produce the potion successfully by the end of the class, your homework will be to write two feet of parchment explaining why. I trust that by now you all know I will not tolerate cheating, either while working on your potions or on your essays.” He smirked in the intimidating manner he had cultivated over the years. “If you are able to produce the potion successfully by the end of the class, I will be most surprised. Well? What are you waiting for?”

The students quickly opened their books and began scurrying to the store cupboard for ingredients. He watched them closely to see whether any would show signs of the independent thinking necessary to truly excel in the art of potion-making.

* * *

A/N: I should note the inspiration for the climbing roses that get frisky with too much nitrogen comes from Lois McMaster Bujold’s _Cetaganda_.

  



	2. Chapter 2

 

The first few weeks of classes seemed to fly past as Celia settled into a routine. Her N.E.W.T. students were every bit as challenging as she could have hoped. The younger students were, of course, more of a mixed bag. They were all required to take Herbology until they took their O.W.L. exams, but most couldn’t care less about the subject. All things considered, she actually preferred the “firsties.” They could go from adorably eager to infuriatingly dense and back in less than ten seconds and this made for some interesting classes. At the moment, eagerness seemed to be winning.

She scanned the greenhouse workbench, and noted the progress that they were – or in several cases were not – making with their nettle and sow thistle plants. Those had been good picks. No permanent damage if they got stung or stuck, but it taught them to treat their plants with care. Quickly.

Something at the far end of the workbench caught her eye. What the hell was that kid doing? He wasn’t actually … she whipped out her wand.

 _“Impervius! Immobulus!”_

The child froze, as did the water he had just started to pour. She walked swiftly to his side and looked with horror. _Yup. Dragon blood._ And he’d been about to dump an awful lot of water in it. That was all kinds of brilliant. The water couldn’t get in now, but still she carefully moved the dragon blood safely to the center of the bench and worked the pitcher out of the boy’s hand, taking care not to knock him over. She placed the pitcher under the “frozen” water and prepared to unfreeze it and the boy, positioning herself to catch him if he fell.

 _“Finite Incantatem.”_

The water splashed down into the pitcher, and young Michael Harrington looked up at her, startled, then guilty. _Goddess, I hate this part of the job._ She’d managed so far to reprimand students privately but he could have seriously hurt himself and several classmates. And her. And the greenhouse. Possibly the south wall of the castle. She had to be firm, and they all had to understand. “Mr. Harrington, would you care to explain what you thought you were doing?”

“I was, um,” he said, then stopped, looking around him wildly.

“You were about to something so amazingly” – _idiotic and stupid, not to mention_ – “dangerous that I had to Immobilize you. I don’t appreciate having to use that sort of magic on my students. I never thought I _would_ have to use that sort of magic on my students.” She took a breath. Her heart could slow down any time now. “What I want to know is what you thought you were doing. Then I’ll give you a small idea of what you would have done.”

The boy swallowed. “Well, you said that we needed to make the soil more acidic. And we ran out of the stuff you were having us use …”

“The pH adjuster, yes.”

“So, I looked at the label, and decided we could make some more of our own.”

“I see.” _Ambitious. Right._ “And where did you find the undiluted dragon blood?”

“Umm.”

“So you thought you would get in _less_ trouble for going into my supplies and _stealing_ a dangerous substance, than for asking me what you should do?”

The boy nodded weakly. She sighed. _Let’s try to impress the teacher by doing it all ourselves, and then she’ll forget we broke into her supply cabinet. Great idea, except for the part where it’s not. Let’s see, ethics or safety first?_

“And have you been sleeping through your Potions classes these past two months, Mr. Harrington?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly. “No, Professor Reese. I do quite well in Potions.”

“Really? Then how is it possible that you did not know you should never, ever add water to dragon blood?”

“But the bottle said …”

“I didn’t ask what the bottle said. I asked how, if you have been paying attention and doing well in Potions, you could have thought it would be wise to add water to dragon blood.”

“It never came up?”

One of the other students snickered. Celia closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

“So you mean to tell me,” she said, “that if I were to ask your Potions Master whether you ought to know that you shouldn’t add water to dragon blood, he’d tell me that he hasn’t burdened you with that knowledge?”

The boy blanched. “I don’t see what Potions has to do …”

“You can’t simply leave what you learn in one class when you enter another, Mr. Harrington. Adding water to dragon blood is dangerous, whether you are in Potions class, my class, or not in any class at all.” She sighed again. _Seeing is believing, right?_ “All of you, pick up your plants and take several steps back from the workbench.”

Once they were all out of range, she dipped her fingers into the pitcher and flung several drops toward the ceramic dish holding the dragon blood and quickly jumped back. With a loud pop, several tongues of flame leapt up from the dish, joined into one, and actually reached high enough to scorch the greenhouse window above before dissipating. She turned back to look at the boy, who was suddenly looking very pale, as were most of his classmates.

“You were about to pour this entire pitcher in there, weren’t you?” she asked. He nodded dumbly. “Fifty points from Slytherin for unauthorized use of dangerous substances and nearly blowing us all up. And a week of detention for breaking into my supplies. In the future, Mr. Harrington, if you need supplies and cannot find them, _ask_. You’ll get in far less trouble that way.”

The students were all looking at her oddly. Right, she had never corrected a student so publicly before, nor had she ever docked House points for a student’s error. _Well, so far none of them tried to blow the place up!_ Maybe it was a good thing she’d proved that she would punish them if it came to it. Among other things, this incident would probably be burned into their memories, and maybe none of the rest of them would try anything so foolish. _And there’s this bridge and this swamp land. Great deals, both of ‘em._ She looked at the clock.

“You might as well start cleaning up, class,” she said. “It’ll be time for the next period soon enough. Yes, Miss McEvoy?”

“If the pH adjuster really is water and dragon blood, and it’s so dangerous to add water to dragon blood, how do they make it?” asked the young Gryffindor.

She smiled. “That, I believe, you will probably learn either later this year, or sometime next year, when you have a bit more background. If you’re curious to know exactly when, I suggest you ask your Potions Master.” The young girl looked daunted at the prospect.

~ ~ ~

Once the students had left, Celia straightened out the greenhouse and restored the dragon blood to its proper spot in her cupboard. Who’d have thought one of them would pull a stunt like that? Well, it’d be the last one. Several minutes later, as she was putting the finishing touches on a complex series of locking charms, there was a sound at the doorway.

“Professor Reese?” a rich baritone voice spoke. She turned.

“Professor Snape, come in, come in,” she said. “I expected I’d hear from you sometime today though not so soon.” He raised an eyebrow as he entered. “About Mr. Harrington?”

“What about Mr. Harrington?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s not why you’re here then.” She sighed. “Perhaps he does have some sense of self-preservation. Tell me, Professor, at what point in your curriculum do you explain to your students that one should never add water to dragon blood?”

His eyes did an impressive imitation of … well, okay, not saucers, but something much rounder than his eyes usually were.

“On the first day,” he replied. “We discuss the various and plentiful ways they are capable of damaging themselves. And, of course, it is mentioned in their book, as well as every time I have them handle it.”

“I thought so,” she said. “Mr. Harrington decided he’d make his own dilution of dragon blood to adjust the acidity of his nettle plant’s soil.” She pointed up at the scorched window. “After I unfroze him, I … explained why that was a very bad idea. And reminded him he ought to already know as much. I didn’t exactly believe him that ‘it never came up.’”

Professor Snape’s lips quirked into something that might have been a distant cousin to a smile. “I see.”

“It’s the first time any of them have done anything foolish enough to warrant my taking House points off, so I thought he might have complained in hopes it could be reversed.”

“I would never ask another teacher to reverse a disciplinary decision. That simply is not done,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “How was he able to access undiluted dragon blood in the first place?”

“He went into my supply cabinet. Not,” she added, holding her hands up, palms out, “the classroom supply cabinet. And for that little stunt, I get to invent a week’s worth of detentions. Just now I’ve been adding to the security spells.”

“I see.” His tone implied she had been an even worse idiot than Harrington not to realize this danger sooner. Sadly, he was probably right. “Do American students not raid their teachers’ stores in order to try things they are by no means prepared to do? I hadn’t thought our students were unique in such things.”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “My training was all one-on-one. I didn’t have the advantage of a school like Hogwarts.” _Unauthorized use of the chem. lab was pretty standard, though. So, yeah, I should’ve known._

He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable as ever. “At any rate, that is not why I came here. I am in need of fresh aconite and vinca.”

“Of course,” she answered with some relief. She could see why the man’s students were so intimidated by him. That was, of course, what she was feeling. Intimidated. That flash in his eyes was just incredibly … intimidating. With a whirl of robes, she exited the first year classroom greenhouse, locked it behind them, and headed for the greenhouse she thought of as hers.

Once inside, she quickly located the plants. “Will you be wanting whole plants again, or will cuttings suffice?”

“Whole plants, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she replied, simply picking up a pot that had a reasonably sized specimen of each and handing it to him. At his questioning look, she continued, “The Headmistress asked me to keep a ready supply of them. When you requested them just before the full moon last month, I decided it would be easiest to simply have them ready for pickup in the future.”

“And there will be no difference in effect, growing them together like this?”

“No, they wouldn’t hybridize without deliberate magical interference; they’re reproductively isolated,” she answered. At his questioning glance, she added, “Yes, I have tried it, and the result was exceedingly useless. Merely growing them in the same pot appears to have no effect one way or the other on their biology or their magic.”

“I see,” he replied. After a few seconds he continued, “And the fact that someone is in need of Wolfsbane potion does not worry you?”

“Not so long as they’re taking it,” she replied with a shrug. “Why, should it?”

He looked at her oddly but merely thanked her and left. She felt strange about the turn the conversation had taken though she couldn’t say why. Thinking back to their conversation – if one could call it that – at the faculty meeting before the Welcoming Feast, she wondered if he was simply bothered by the idea that she did Potions work. No way. How many Herbologists could there be who didn’t make at least _some_ Potions from their plants? Well, other than that fellow Longbottom at Diagon Alley, who was obviously devoted to his plants entirely for their own sake. Maybe a little too devoted. With another shrug she relocked her greenhouse and hurried to meet her sixth-year N.E.W.T. class.

~ ~ ~

As he made his way back to the dungeon that housed the Potions classroom, his office, and his quarters, Severus Snape replayed this latest interaction with his new colleague. He was more convinced than ever that there was something very strange about her. It was not surprising that she had deduced the reasons he would need these particular herbs, which had to be used fresh. Any Herbologist worthy of the title should be able to figure that out. It was a trifle more disquieting that she had experimented with such a volatile potion, but that seemed simply another symptom of her clearly rash nature.

No, what disturbed him was that she seemed entirely too well-versed in the matter and much too complacent about the notion that there might be a werewolf on the school grounds. She had no way of knowing, nor any reason to suspect, that he was preparing this for someone as far away as London. Surely she was not one as well? Minerva had to have learned from Albus’ mistake. He resolved to keep an eye on her for the next few days. He knew the limitations of the Wolfsbane potion. If she were taking it, she would only retain her mind during the transformation. She would still be quite ill after and probably unable to teach at all.

He had arrived at his classroom which was blessedly free of students until the end of the next period. Satisfied that he had decided upon a course of action to address his concerns, he began working on the Wolfsbane potion for Remus Lupin.

~ ~ ~

The staff meeting was already well under way when a somewhat disheveled Professor Reese quietly entered and slid into her seat. The Deputy Headmaster did not pause in his discussion of the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend and Halloween Feast but rather waited until he was done to address her tardiness.

“And how nice of you to join us, Professor Reese,” he said archly. “I trust we are not keeping you from something more pressing?”

“I apologize for being late,” she replied. Her words were demure, but her expression suggested some rather more forceful emotion.

 _Well, if the chit is going to be rude, she should expect rudeness in return._

“It is unfortunate that, as the staff member most in need of the information, you have missed much of what was said in regards to staff responsibilities during the upcoming visit to Hogsmeade.”

She now appeared to be nearly seething, but before she could say a word, Madam Pomfrey spoke up.

“What happened to your hand, Professor Reese?” she asked.

The Herbologist looked down at her hand on the table and appeared surprised to see that it was badly scraped and bleeding slightly. She appeared embarrassed and removed her hand to her lap.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. “Please, can we get back to the meeting?”

“At least let me heal it,” the school matron insisted.

Professor Reese looked as if she were about to argue, then pressed her lips together and held her hand out. Poppy murmured a quick charm, and the skin promptly knit itself together.

“If that is all,” he began, once Reese had thanked the matron, but found himself interrupted.

“Such an odd abrasion,” Poppy commented. “It looks as if your hand had been caught in a vise.”

The young teacher flushed crimson and mumbled something to the effect of having an argument with one of the staircases as to her destination en route to the meeting.

“That’s a very bad idea,” Potter chimed in. “They always win.”

A brief chuckle went up around the table, and Professor Snape deeply wished Minerva were the one dealing with this mutinous crowd. Surely they all wanted this infernal meeting finished as soon as possible. Why, then, were they encouraging this time-consuming, attention-seeking behavior?

“I’m sorry,” Professor Reese said. “I didn’t want to cause such an interruption.”

“Nor did I wish to have one, but here we are,” he replied. “Now, if that is _quite_ all, I would like to move on. It has come to my attention that several of you have been delegating your responsibilities to the prefects with some regularity. This should be a rather more rare occurrence …”

After the meeting had ended, Professor Snape was dismayed but not surprised to see that Professor Reese had remained behind.

“May I ask what I missed regarding the Hogsmeade weekend?”

“I do not enjoy repeating myself,” he snapped.

“I have already apologized for being late,” she retorted. “However, if you find repeating yourself so bothersome, you might have considered that before going over information that was old news to everyone but the one person who was missing.”

“Which is it, then?” he demanded. “Did you not wish to cause an interruption, or did you think I would rearrange the entire agenda to accommodate your tardiness?”

“I’m only pointing out that you could have spared yourself the repetition if you chose,” she said in what was clearly a deceptively calm voice. “Now, is there some reason you wish to drag this out, or are you going to tell me what is expected of me this weekend?”

He looked at her consideringly for a long moment.

“You will be escorting the third-year students with Professor Vector on the walk to and from the village. While in Hogsmeade, they and you may pursue any reasonable errands or dine in one of the pubs or the tea shop. Then you will escort them back to Hogwarts after assisting Professor Vector in accounting for them. Should any trouble break out among students of any year, you will make yourself useful resolving the problem.”

“Thank you,” she replied, then turned to leave.

“Professor Reese,” he called after her. She turned. “You might speak with Filius about teaching you the charm to control the staircases, so as to avoid any future ‘arguments.’”

For the briefest of seconds, she looked as if she were going to ask why he did not just tell her himself. The expression passed, and she merely nodded and said, “I will,” before finally leaving him in peace.

~ ~ ~

The day was going well, Celia thought. The third-year students were too excited about their first trip to Hogsmeade to get into any trouble on their way there. Now they seemed to mainly be stocking up on every sweet imaginable from Honeydukes.

 _That should make for an interesting trip back,_ she mused. Sugared-up thirteen year-olds were not, as she recalled, the most docile of creatures.

She went into a few of the shops herself. Dervish and Banges had an impressive selection of magical equipment, which they also serviced, and a fair selection of not-exactly-magical-but-you’d-never-see-it-in-the-Muggle-world items as well. She spent several minutes looking over their assortment of Sneakoscopes. They came in a more impressive array of sizes than she had previously seen, and she knew quite a few friends who could probably use them. She’d have to see how far her Christmas budget would stretch. Owling them would probably be more expensive than the actual Sneakoscopes. Maybe she’d stick with just … well, maybe she’d keep it to a minimum.

The apothecary was surprisingly poorly stocked, at least in comparison to the one at Diagon Alley. However, it had most of the items she needed, and the clerk agreed to order and owl her the rest. Good thing she wasn’t in a hurry. She could probably borrow from the school supplies if she really needed to, but that was a conversation she didn’t particularly want to have.

One of her more productive stops was Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. They had some very fine stationery, all of it parchment. What, exactly, did the wizarding world have against _paper_? She passed over the more decorative items and purchased a box of plain parchment for letter-writing. She wished there were some with grid-lines to make it easier to record students’ grades and made a mental note to send for some Muggle graphing paper.

Browsing through some of the quirkier offerings at Gladrags was amusing despite the fact she didn’t really need any clothes right now. The wizarding world had apparently discovered toe socks. Possibly they had invented them. Celia almost laughed out loud when the image of her teacher wearing thigh-high purple and orange toe stockings popped into her head. Her teacher probably would wear them, too. _I really owe her a letter._

As she turned to leave, she noticed they had a limited supply of fancier robes and gowns. She could have waited on that, then. Blinking back tears, she hurried out of the shop. Buying fancy things was probably always going to hurt, and she was glad she had taken care of it before coming to Hogwarts.

When it got close to two in the afternoon she headed to the Three Broomsticks to wait for Professor Potter. He had informed her that several of the staff often stopped in for a late lunch on these outings and promised that she would absolutely love her first taste of butterbeer. An actual beer would be more her speed. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to drink something that sounded like the bastard lovechild of butterscotch and rootbeer, much less warm, but she had agreed to give it a try. Among other things, she felt she should probably be making more of an effort to socialize with the rest of the faculty. What they would possibly find in common to talk about besides the students was the big question, but there had to be some safe topics.

As she stood with her back to the pub – not its door or windows, of course, but a nice expanse of wall – she watched the students milling around. Quite a few of the older students seemed to have wiped Zonko’s Joke Shop out of inventory and were having fun pranking each other. Nothing appeared to be getting out of hand, so she let them be. Down the road a bit, a couple of third-years were apparently having a contest to see who could shove the longest bit of a sugar quill into their mouth. She smiled wryly. _Oh yeah, the trip back is going to be all kinds of fun._

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and reacted instinctively, grabbing it and spinning to twist it behind its owner’s back, pinning the assailant against the pub wall so forcefully his glasses flew off.

 _Wand!_ she thought with a surge of panic, and with a flick of her wrist, it was out of her sleeve and in the hand that wasn’t keeping his arm locked in place just before he managed to turn his face and look at her.

 _Oh shit._

“Professor Potter!” she exclaimed, releasing him and taking several steps back. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she felt as if her eyes were going to roll straight out of her skull. _No, no, no, no. I did not,_ not _just attack one of my colleagues and the Hero of the Wizarding World while I was at it. I’m going to wake up now. Wake up! Damn._ “I’m so sorry! You startled me.”

“Obviously,” he said, warily bending to pick up his glasses. One lens had a crack running across it now, and she thought she should probably offer to fix it. Before she could, he had already drawn his own wand, done it himself, and put them back on.

“Why would you … ,” she started, only to find herself interrupted by the person who had just approached. Fortunately for him, he had stepped into her line of vision before getting too close. Unfortunately for her, he was the last person she wanted to see.

“What is going on here?” asked the Deputy Headmaster, his voice low and dangerous. “Teachers brawling in the streets of Hogsmeade? Possibly preparing to duel, from the look of things?”

She looked down and realized she still had her wand out, as did Professor Potter. Forcing herself to keep the movement slow and deliberate, she re-sheathed hers and watched as he did the same.

“It was a misunderstanding, Snape,” Professor Potter said.

Celia was not sure what he replied, because she was becoming very uncomfortably aware of the fact that she had summoned an awful lot of magical energy and had yet to do anything with it. It crackled along her nerves, and she was surprised her hair wasn’t standing on end, braided or not.

“Professor Reese,” the Deputy Headmaster said in a tone implying he had already said it more than once. She turned to face him. He narrowed his eyes and looked at her appraisingly. “I strongly suggest you Apparate directly to the Hogwarts gates and then take yourself to the Headmistress. She should have returned from the Ministry by now.”

 _That’s not a half bad idea. The Apparating part, anyway. That’ll use up a nice chunk of this energy._

She nodded to him, then turned to face Professor Potter again. She had been about to apologize again, but suddenly a wave of resentment washed over her. He’d come up on her blind side and touched her without making his presence known. _He’s supposed to be a war hero and the Defense instructor and should totally know better, but I’m the one being sent to the Headmistress like a naughty student!_ She fought the anger back down.

“I apologize for my overreaction and for almost hexing you,” she said carefully, “but of all people, I’d have thought you’d know better than to sneak up on someone like that.”

With that, she turned on her heel and Disapparated.

~ ~ ~

When he returned to the castle that evening, Professor Snape went directly to the Headmistress’ office. This was, of course, the usual routine. She invariably expected a report as to the students’ behavior and what punishments had been meted out. Tonight, however, should be rather different. His report on the two fights that had occurred would pale in comparison to whatever Minerva would have to say about this nuisance of a teacher harming poor, dear Potter in full view of several students, not to mention residents of Hogsmeade. He could feel an evil smirk forming on his lips as he climbed the stairs, and not a few first- and second-years on their way to dinner scuttled out of his way.

It had, of course, been rather pleasant to watch someone take the Hero of the Wizarding World down a notch, both in pinning him and in pointing out his extremely elementary mistake. The boy should have spent a few more years actually working as an Auror before coming back to Hogwarts to teach. Perhaps then, instead of simply preaching Moody’s dogma of constant vigilance, he might actually practice it. While one did not normally expect someone whose life revolved around plants to have such hair-trigger reflexes, the point was that one also did not just walk up on the blind side of any wizard or witch and tap them on the shoulder, war or no war.

So it was with some surprise that he found an entirely calm Minerva McGonagall in her office awaiting his report. She offered him tea and listened calmly to his description of the two sets of students that had been caught dueling.

“And are you satisfied with the discipline set by Filius and Septima?” she asked.

“Indeed,” he replied. “I am, however, far more interested in hearing your thoughts on the other incident today.”

Minerva took a slow and deliberate sip of her tea and then set her cup down carefully.

“I will speak to Harry,” she said. “In fact, if you see him before dinner, please send him to me.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. This was as far removed from his expectations as anything he could have imagined. Granted, he would most certainly enjoy relaying that message, but it did seem out of character for Minerva to hold him responsible for the incident.

“While Potter’s actions may have been unwise,” he said, “and demonstrate my point that he was not ready to begin teaching after only two years working as an Auror, I rather thought you would be more concerned about the teacher who pinned him up against a wall and nearly hexed him.”

“As you say,” she replied evenly, “his actions were unwise, and the result may well have undermined his authority as a Defense instructor. I have already spoken with Professor Reese about her … overreaction.”

“It sets an awful example for the students if we have teachers brawling in public,” he persisted, hardly knowing why.

“They were not brawling, Severus. Professor Reese tells me that she withdrew as soon as she ascertained she was not being attacked. Is that not what you saw?”

“Yes, it was,” he admitted.

“And as he has not been up here himself to present his side before now, I presume Harry’s interpretation will be similar.”

“Perhaps. However, I am surprised that you are taking this woman’s word before hearing Potter’s side of the story. Of course she will have cast herself in the best possible light.”

Minerva looked at him oddly.

“I never thought I would see the day, Severus, that you would be defending Harry when it was not a matter of life or death,” she said. “In fact, Professor Reese did nothing of the kind. She was quite embarrassed by the entire scene. She will no doubt be more embarrassed by the announcement I shall have to make at dinner in order to quell the worst of the rumors that must already be spreading.”

He could picture it now. There would be some sympathetic statement about misunderstandings followed by an exhortation to take various lessons from the incident with a grand handshake between the two for pudding. Even as he condemned the idea as utterly nauseating, he had to concede that it was the best way to handle the matter. By tomorrow morning, the rumors would include the possibility that the entire thing had been staged as an object lesson.

“And do you truly think that ‘embarrassment’ is sufficient?”

“Unless Harry suggests otherwise, then yes, Severus. Or did you have anything to add that might change that?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Well, then. Please do send Harry up if you see him before dinner.”

With a curt nod, he rose and left. Something about the entire incident still bothered him although he was hard-pressed to name it. Perhaps it was simply that such a response seemed so incongruent with the woman who chattered so endlessly with Hagrid at the staff table. That was close but not quite it, he felt.

The one thing that was utterly certain was that his suspicion of her being a werewolf was clearly unfounded. The full moon had been only three days ago, and were she one and taking Wolfsbane, she could not possibly have responded so quickly. In fact, she would hardly have been healthy enough to chaperone the trip at all. No, if there were, indeed, something off about her, that was not it.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It was well into November before Celia found it necessary to take points from another student. Considering the incident in Hogsmeade, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a lot more students acting up in her classes. Luckily that hadn’t happened. No, this time it wasn’t even in her class at all. She was just leaving the study hall that she had been overseeing when she heard a scuffle down a side hallway. As she turned the corner, a student shot past her, but her attention was riveted to the two she saw further down. A large boy was holding a smaller one up against the wall, the smaller child’s toes several inches off the floor.

“What’re you going to do now, featherweight?” the larger boy sneered as she caught sight of his face.

“ _Mis_ ter Jarvis,” she said in the most intimidating voice she could manage, “put your fellow student _down_. Slowly.”

The boy complied but looked unrepentant and not all that worried about being caught.

 _Oh, we’ll just see about that._

“Twenty points from Ravenclaw for bullying,” she said. “And you will serve detention with me this Saturday at ten o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“In the morning.” As if she would start a detention at ten o’clock at night.

“But that’s Quidditch!” he protested.

 _No kidding Mr. “I’m the star quarterback, I can do whatever I want.”_ At least, she thought a Seeker was pretty much like the team’s quarterback.

“Would you like to make it two Saturdays?” she asked.

The boy shook his head mutely.

“I didn’t think so. You will also bring with you two rolls of parchment filled with a discussion of why you feel the need to pick on people smaller than you.”

“But my Head of House will be furious if I don’t play!”

“You could, of course, try to persuade him that I ought to change the time of your detention, Mr. Jarvis,” she said. “I am sure you can make a compelling case to Professor Flitwick that you should not be punished so severely for bullying someone because of their size.”

The boy finally had the grace to look down at his shoes.

 _Twit._

“Get back to your common room and get ready for dinner,” she ordered. He fled. The shorter student made to follow until she held up a hand to indicate he should remain.

“Thank you, Professor,” the sandy-haired boy said.

“Don’t thank me, Mr. Lightfeather,” she replied. “He can’t strike back at me for punishing him, so he’s going to take it out on you.”

The boy nodded mutely.

“You need to learn how to deal with bullies, Mr. Lightfeather,” she said to the young Slytherin. “There won’t always be a teacher around to deal with them for you. Nor should there be.”

“But I’m too little to fight back!” he wailed.

“Who said anything about fighting back?” she countered. “That never works. You fight back, so then he picks on you more, you fight back more. It doesn’t end well. No, the way to deal with bullies is to stop being an easy target.”

“How do I do that?”

She looked him up and down. “First, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. Standing, sitting, always. If you’re all hunched over like that, you look like you are expecting to be attacked. Bullies take that as an invitation.”

His eyes opened wide at this and he straightened up immediately.

“There you go,” she said. “Second, if he’s just teasing you verbally, what you do is either ignore him or outright tell him that you don’t care what he says. I don’t care if it’s true or not; what matters is _he_ needs to believe you mean it. Say it often enough, and you might find out it’s true after all.”

“But what about other stuff?”

“Like dangling you off the floor? There’s not much you can do about that without getting yourself in trouble for striking back. But, if you manage to act bored rather than scared, he’ll probably get bored himself, and then one of us teachers gets to have a similar talk with his next target. For most bullies, that’s enough. They don’t actually care about hurting you; it’s the humiliation and fear they’re after. If it’s more serious, then either get away or have a friend go for help like you just did.”

“And magic?”

“Have you learned how to block jinxes yet in your Defense classes?” she asked. When he shook his head, she sighed. “You could ask your Defense professor, or your Head of House for that matter, and see if they think you’re ready to learn that. In the meantime, use your size to your advantage.”

“Professor?”

“Duck, Mr. Lightfeather. Jump out of the way. Being smaller gives you an advantage, because you’re already harder to hit. If you can make yourself a moving target, that’s all to the good. And if he doesn’t miss, Madam Pomfrey’s very good at fixing the things students do to each other here. Remember that and don’t let him rattle you. Again, he’ll get bored and move on.”

“Yeah, I know,” said the boy. “About Madam Pomfrey, I mean.”

“Already, huh?” she replied. “Well, I’ve just given you kind of a lot of homework, but unlike what I gave Mr. Jarvis, it’s not supposed to be a punishment. But if I find you making yourself an easy target again, you’ll be writing me an essay, too, and the topic will be how to deal with bullies appropriately and why it’s important to do so.”

“What if the bully is a teacher?” he asked, a quiver in his voice.

She smiled. _Gee, I wonder who he could be talking about?_ “Mr. Lightfeather, none of the teachers here are bullies.” He looked ready to argue the point, but she cut him off. “Many are very strict. We each have our own way of looking out for our students.”

He closed his mouth and nodded, clearly unconvinced.

“Now,” she continued, “you’re going to be late for dinner. Get a move on.”

“Yes, professor,” the boy said. “Thank you, professor.”

She watched as he darted back down the hall and then stopped short as he rounded the corner. His steps continued at a brisk walk once he was out of sight. Celia took her time returning down the hall herself with a fair idea who she would find on the other side of that corner.

“Professor Snape,” she greeted him. “I should have realized that other student was off to get you. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he replied, gesturing to her to proceed toward the Great Hall with him. “That was a very interesting approach.”

She shrugged. “I’d think that dealing with bullies would be a pretty universal problem.”

“No doubt,” he replied with a sneer. “However, I’m surprised that someone with such a privileged background would have any familiarity with the problem.”

Dumbstruck, she turned to look at him. “Whatever gave you the idea I come from a ‘privileged background’?”

“You mentioned that your instruction was through private tutoring,” he replied.

She scoffed. _Assume much?_ “My magical training, yes, but that was not exactly a matter of privilege, more like necessity. And I never said I hadn’t been to school, just not a magical school.”

“Indeed,” he said, and then fell silent.

 _Well,_ she thought, _if he thinks I’m going to start spilling my life story just to fill the conversational dead-space, he’s not as smart as I thought._ She held her peace until they were nearly at the Great Hall then excused herself to the bathroom to wash before dinner.

~ ~ ~

Stalking into the Great Hall, Severus Snape pondered the mystery of Celia Reese. He grudgingly admired the advice she’d given young Colin Lightfeather. For a Slytherin, the boy was entirely too lacking in confidence and, as she had pointed out, made himself a target. Snape had tried pointing this out to the boy in the past, clearly to little effect, as he only left those conversations cringing all the more. The boy reminded him of himself at that age. That was an uncomfortable thought.

Stopping on his way past the Slytherin table, he said, “Mr. Lightfeather, you will stop by my office immediately after dinner.”

The young boy swallowed whatever had been in his mouth as he turned to answer, “Yes, sir.”

When he began to walk away, he heard one of the other first years say, “What are you in trouble for?”

The answer was unfortunately mumbled too softly for him to hear. He continued up to the staff table and took his seat between Aurora and Professor Reese.

He studiously avoided anything beyond the most perfunctory of greetings, ostensibly keeping a close eye on his Slytherins but actually wondering about the strange witch beside him. Giving good advice was all very well, but she still remained a disturbing mystery. The only thing truly unusual about her behavior that he had observed since the Hogsmeade incident was that she had gone to Hagrid’s hut before breakfast twice, and they had gone somewhere out of view from the castle. At breakfast, she had been her usual self, but both times Hagrid had appeared somewhat the worse for wear. He supposed she might be helping him with the dietary needs of some of his more interesting “pets” but staying well out of their range herself. That did not quite track, either.

Once he had finished his dinner, he left the table and the Hall without another word and returned to his office to await the arrival of Colin Lightfeather.

~ ~ ~

A timid knock sounded at the door.

“Enter!” he barked.

The small sandy-haired boy opened the door cautiously and stepped inside. He looked around at the shelves of potions ingredients and barely suppressed a shudder.

Professor Snape remained seated at his desk. Perhaps this was not the best venue for this conversation, however it would hardly do to invite a student into his own quarters, and the Slytherin Common Room was out of the question.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Lightfeather asked.

“I want to speak with you about the altercation with Mr. Jarvis before dinner,” Professor Snape replied.

“Oh.” The boy was still standing almost as far across the office as possible without actually clinging to the door. Interestingly, he suddenly straightened his posture and appeared more confident, if still rather frightened.

“I see you have taken the lesson to heart,” he continued, his tone of voice deliberately dry.

Now the boy blanched. He retained his improved posture. _Good._

“You heard?” Lightfeather asked.

“Enough,” he replied. “Professor Reese’s advice was … adequate, no doubt. Why did you not come to me when Mr. Jarvis’ bullying continued?”

The boy looked down at his shoes.

“Look up, Mr. Lightfeather,” he ordered sharply. “When you respond to a challenge in that manner, you appear either dishonest or weak.”

When the boy lifted his gaze again, there was a spark of determination in his eyes that had not been there previously.

“I gather you need to learn how to deflect unfriendly spells,” Snape said, crossing his arms sternly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I will not teach you how to cast hexes or jinxes,” he warned. “You must only defend yourself or possibly disarm your attacker until an adult arrives to handle the situation.”

Lightfeather nodded solemnly.

“I do not like to see the students of my house made to look weak, but neither will I tolerate behavior that perpetuates the notion that Slytherin equates to evil. Am I making myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

Professor Snape examined the boy’s face for any sign of impertinence and found none.

“Very well. We will begin tomorrow evening, directly after dinner. There is a room on the seventh floor that will suit our purposes well. Do not be late.”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir,” Lightfeather replied.

“You may go.” He waved the boy toward the door and made a show of turning his attention to the stack of essay scrolls before him.

Once the door had closed behind the boy, he leaned back into his chair and tapped his finger on the desk thoughtfully.

~ ~ ~

“What’s bothering you, Professor? You’re not yourself at all today.”

“It’s nothing Pro … look, will you please just call me Celia?” she replied a bit awkwardly. “I know I probably haven’t passed whatever probationary period it takes to get to first names around here, but it’s really starting to feel ridiculous.”

Professor Potter shrugged. “Sure, Celia, and you can call me Harry.”

She blinked at him stupidly.

“What just happened here?”

“You told me I could use your first name, so I invited you to use mine, too,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It was up to me?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you know?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Obviously not.” _So much for worrying about looking like some stereotypically super-familiar American!_ “So is that a British thing or a wizarding world thing?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” Harry admitted. “I think Muggles just go straight to first names, though.”

 _I am going to kill … no, I’m just going to throttle him until his jaw shakes loose. No killing. Too messy. Also there’s the slight problem that he’s in another country. But he’s supposed to be explaining these things to me!_

“Well, now that’s sorted, what’s bothering you?”

 _And so much for getting this one off the subject._

“I suppose you’d call it a sort of homesickness.” Between adjusting to living full-time in the wizarding world and adjusting to living in Britain, she supposed she was due for a bout of homesickness. _Yeah, but homesick for where?_

“Why … oh, that’s right, you Americans have that holiday coming up this Thursday,” he said. “Wishing you could go visit your family, then?”

“No,” she replied with a half-smile. _That would be slightly impossible._ “I think I’m still full from the Halloween Feast for one thing.”

“That’s been over three weeks!” he laughed then added, “And?”

“And I don’t exactly have any family to go have Thanksgiving with, anyway,” Celia admitted, surprising herself. “That’s not why, anyway. Today’s kind of an anniversary. That, and a couple of first year Gryffindors had themselves a combination freak-out and homesick cry last period, which I suppose put me in a mood.”

“Which ones? And what did they ‘freak out’ about?” he asked.

She sent out a mental note of thanks to the two girls for helping her distract their Head of House. She probably should have told him right away, but they had been so embarrassed, and anyway this was much more convenient. Why had she decided to start doing her grading in the staffroom again? _Oh, right. Everyone else is doing it. That’s always a good reason._

“It was Misses Dissanayake and Hollingberry. We were having one of our walks on the grounds – last one of the term, actually – to see how some of the plants I’ve had them observing have changed for the winter. We’ve gone by the Whomping Willow before, of course, but this time a rabbit ran in close so they got to see it in action.” She sighed. “I guess seeing smaller plants with minds of their own really wasn’t enough preparation for that.”

“Ah.” Harry looked enlightened and possibly a little … nostalgic? “Did the rabbit get away?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “Thankfully, or they’d really have been traumatized, I think. As it was, that was pretty much the end of class. They were too shaken, and some of their classmates were not very understanding, so I dismissed the rest and had a chat with them.”

“You get rather a lot of that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I suppose it makes sense that the homesick ones would run to the teacher they know is here from another country.”

“Especially the Muggle-borns,” Harry pointed out.

“Well, they have the most adapting to do, don’t they?” she said with a shrug. “They’re not just away from home for the first time but in a completely different world after all.”

“Definitely,” he said. “It’s a bit of a shock when you’ve not even known about magic the first eleven years of your life.”

She looked at him. “That’s right; I forgot you’d been Muggle-raised, too.” She paused for a sip of tea, looked at the parchment she was supposed to be correcting, then back at him. He was looking at her oddly. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘Muggle-raised _too_ ’?” he asked.

“Oh.” She hadn’t meant to let that slip. _Guess that distraction worked both ways._ “Um, well, I was Muggle-raised as well. So I guess I understand what a hard time they have adjusting. That’s all.” She turned back to the parchment, inked her quill, and scanned for something she could mark. Anything. Good, bad, this student had to have said something she could comment on. She was uncomfortably aware that not only was this conversation treading into dangerous ground, but there were two other faculty members in the staffroom, too. Professors Flitwick and Snape probably didn’t care what she and Harry were talking about, but they’d probably like some peace and quiet to continue their own essay-grading.

“Muggle-raised, though, and not Muggle-born?” he pressed.

She put down her quill. “Nosy much? Were you ever _not_ in detention when you were a student?” She heard a snort from behind her.

“Well, it’s just a bit unusual,” he said. At least he had the grace to flush slightly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you do, but it’s my fault for saying anything in the first place.” She sighed, then continued in a rush, “I don’t actually know whether I’m Muggle-born or not. Most likely. But I was raised by foster-parents and don’t know anything at all about my biological parents. That’s what today is, the anniversary of when I turned up at the Department of Children and Families. There. Satisfied?” She picked her quill back up and noticed her hand was shaking. Willing it to stillness, she tried very hard to look like she was focusing on the parchment again. Instead, her mind was racing. She hadn’t said anything truly compromising so far, but she really didn’t want to get into a discussion of her past. Why was she saying so much, anyway? She should have stuck with her prior habit of doing her grading in her cottage rather than the staff room. Yes, she was getting very lonely, but there was good reason to keep her distance from the rest of the faculty, and this was exactly it.

“Sorry,” Harry said. Silence fell for a few moments. Then he spoke up again, “How did they take it, when they found out you were a witch?” She slapped her quill down and thought about just getting up and leaving.

“Potter, leave the woman alone,” Snape drawled. “Some of us would like to get some actual work done, here.” Celia turned and offered a smile and nod of thanks which, unsurprisingly, went unacknowledged. Her smile turned to a frown. _Fine. Let him get some actual work done in his dungeon, then._

“They never knew,” she replied, then cut herself off abruptly. Okay, and why was she saying all of this? To annoy the person who just gave her a way out of this conversation that she should absolutely not be having? Never mind that he had rudely ignored her thanks, this was ridiculous. She looked suspiciously at her cup of tea and wondered if she were being tag-teamed.

She picked up the tea, took a whiff of it, and wordlessly cast a revealing spell over it. Nothing, just tea. She took a sip. Yes, just tea. Still, she’d best get out of here before she said anything else.

“And if I have quite satisfied your curiosity,” she said, “I think I’ll be going now. Clearly I’ll get more done in my own office.” She gathered her things and swept out of the room without another word.

~ ~ ~

Several minutes after she’d left, Snape decided to listen to his instincts and follow her. As heavy-handed as the boy had been, and as much as Snape hated to admit it, Potter had at least managed to get more information out of Professor Reese than he had in all this time, and this might be the opportunity to find out more. He reduced his great pile of parchments, placed them in his pocket, and left the staff room without a word.

Once outside and certain no one was watching, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and proceeded to the Herbologist’s cottage. There was no sign of her. He was not surprised and turned instead toward Hagrid’s hut. When he arrived, she was sitting at Hagrid’s table sipping tea. He positioned himself by one of the windows. Celia had her back to him, but he could see Hagrid and hear them both quite well.

“I just don’t know what came over me,” she was saying. “Spilling my guts like that? I know better. I don’t _do_ that.”

“Mebbe yeh jes’ needed to,” Hagrid replied. “Yeh figgered Harry’d understand, seein’ as how he had a similar start.”

Snape barely heard her give a soft snort. “The only similarity is that he was raised by Muggles. He knows who his parents were, and he came into his powers at a normal age.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” Hagrid conceded. “Still, it’s like yeh were sayin’ about those kids: when yeh need to talk about summat, yeh find someone yeh think will understand.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But I can’t just go doing that. I know better and I never have before. I got paranoid enough to check my tea for Veritaserum, not that there was any. I’d have really done it if there had been. And how ridiculous is that? Where would he have gotten it, after all? As far as I can tell, those two can’t stand each other, never mind teaming up to, what, find out what the weird American is all about?”

“What two? Oh, Snape?” Hagrid snorted. “Nah, he’s never had much patience for Harry’s type of curiosity. Yeh’d have to have done something pretty suspicious to get _him_ pokin’ around.”

“Suspicious like what?” she said. “The man used to be a spy, Hagrid. Everything about me probably screams ‘suspicious,’ and it’s so stupid. There’s no good reason why the faculty shouldn’t be in on this. Well, except maybe Sybill. I can see keeping her out of it. She’d have half the girls convinced they’re the one I’m here about, and oh wouldn’t that be fun. Doom with a side of gloom, just what every adolescent needs.”

“Well, that’s the thing, now, innit?” Hagrid said. “Yeh can’t keep summat from just one, without keeping it from ’em all. And I’m sure McGonagall has her reasons.”

Celia sighed. “I’m sure she does, too. I’m afraid it’s just an old, bad habit, though. There isn’t a war right now, and if there were, it would be even more important for the faculty to know. At the very least, the Heads of the Houses ought to know, and Pomfrey.”

“Well, Poppy does at least know to go to McGonagall if any lasses show up with the sort of symptoms yeh’re lookin’ for.”

“Assuming they go to her,” she retorted. “If the girl turns out to be a Slytherin, who’s to say she won’t just go to her Head of House and ask for a Dreamless Sleep Draught? That’s what I’d do. Probably happens all the time. It’s not fair to him, especially. Not just Head of a House and Potions Master, the man’s Deputy Headmaster, for Goddess’ sake! Of all people who ought to know and could probably help and he doesn’t know what to look for, or even that there’s anything _to_ be on the lookout for.” Her teacup clattered into its saucer.

“Well, yeh did say the potion wouldn’t work.”

“No, it won’t. So at least he’ll figure it out. No, he’ll at least figure out that _something_ is wrong, something more than just a few nightmares. Hell, no matter what House she’s in, if she’s good enough with potions herself, she might just try to _make_ something rather than admit she’s going out of her head with dreams that nothing will stop. Hopefully she’d go to someone before trying every potion under the sun until she’s so sleep-deprived she’s begging for the Draught of Living Death, thinking that might actually do it. And that won’t work either. She’d just be trapped in her head with horrors that even most students here probably couldn’t imagine.”

“How d’yeh know that?” Hagrid asked. “That ’un ought to work, even if she’d be in a bloody coma.”

“Because they tried it on me,” she said, so softly Snape almost could not hear her. “I was so far out of my head that they tried putting me in a coma to stop the dreams and give my body and mind some time to recover. It was complete, total, no-holds-barred torture. From what I’ve heard about Dementors, it was like being around a swarm of them. The difference is it’s not memories, it’s stuff you’ve never seen before. It’s hideous and it’s terrifying, and I don’t know if a Hogwarts student would be better or worse off for knowing that stuff is at least possible. Probably better off. At least she won’t think she’s losing her mind. I hope.”

A few moments of silence fell, during which the two seemed to be simply drinking their tea. Snape gripped the window frame tightly. He had been right. There was something strange about this woman, and somehow it related to a danger to the students or at least to _a_ student. Clearly Hagrid and Minerva knew, and no one had informed him. Deliberately. He seethed silently.

“I’m sure he keeps his supplies well enough warded that no student should be able to break in for the ingredients to do that,” she said at last. “He certainly disapproved of me being lax with mine. I still wish he knew. Hell, I wish I could ask for his help.”

“Well, yer research isn’t a secret, now, is it?” Hagrid pointed out. “Why couldn’t yeh ask for help wi’ that?”

“Because I’ve completely alienated him, right from the start,” she said throwing up her hands. “I let him bait me into a sniping contest the very first time I met him. Which, while satisfying for about two seconds, was monumentally stupid. Among other things he probably thinks I’m poaching on his territory. Besides, I was warned to keep clear of him because he’s the one most likely to see straight through me.”

Snape supposed he had been somewhat affronted that her research was not neatly confined to her field, though it was somewhat unrealistic to expect otherwise. It was just that most Herbology research that related directly to Potions research was undertaken as a joint effort, and she had the audacity to be doing the thing entirely on her own. Of course, from the sound of things, that was not working out terribly well. He smirked.

“He does have a way of gettin’ right into people’s heads,” Hagrid agreed. “Harry tol’ me a bit abou’ that, years ago.”

“Yeah, well, until an hour ago, I’d have said ‘not my head.’ But, considering what actually just poured out of my mouth in there, I guess I need to rethink that.” She sighed. “The worst of it is I let slip more or less how recently I came into my powers. I mean, ok, I didn’t exactly, but I said my foster parents never knew, so all it would take is a quick records search, assuming he knows how, to figure out when they died, and then that marks the earliest time I could have gotten my powers and it’s not off by much. Thank Goddess there’s no internet here, after all. I don’t know if Harry’ll bother putting it together, but he seemed awfully persistent, and if he gets that information it’s not exactly differential calculus to figure out when, and therefore probably why, I’d have been woken up, activated, whatever you want to call it, six and a half bloody years ago, and from there, it’s a really short walk to what I’m doing here.”

Not surprisingly she finally had to stop for breath.

“Well, it’s not like too many people seem t’ know about it,” Hagrid offered.

“Yeah, I know. I mean, obviously the textbooks and curriculum don’t cover it, and I get that everybody over here was a little busy at the time, but I can’t imagine the faculty are completely unaware of what happened. The Ministry certainly aren’t; they just ignore it.”

“Hmm, yeh’d best tell McGonagall about tha’, then.”

“I will. After dinner, probably.” She took a sip of tea. “I doubt Harry’ll put it together. Far as I could tell, Flitwick and Snape were just annoyed that we were talking, not actually paying attention, but that’s still three people who potentially have enough information to blow my … well, it’s not really a cover, is it? On the plus side, at least it’s three of the four that really ought to bloody know.” She vented a short laugh with no humor in it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t shut up even when I’d been given an out. I thought it was just because I was aggravated with … well, whatever.” She fell silent again.

“Mebbe yer jes’ not cut out for spyin’,” Hagrid suggested.

“I’m not _spying_ , Hagrid,” she snapped. “Not exactly, anyway. Hell, it would probably be easier if I were.”

Oh she thought so, did she? Clearly she would not last five minutes in such a role.

“Well, it’s gettin’ on dinner time, Celia,” Hagrid said, obviously not knowing what to say to this. “Best get yerself ready an’ all.”

“I’m sorry Hagrid. It’s just … I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe I ought to just take dinner in my cottage tonight, then go meet with Minerva later. Who knows what’s going to come out of my mouth next if I’m on this bad of a roll?”

“Suit yerself,” he said. “I’m headin’ up t’ the castle.”

“OK, then. Thanks for the tea and the ear,” she said.

“Anytime, yeh know that,” he smiled.

As they made to exit, Snape ducked away from the window and around a corner. Celia stopped on the first step leading from the hut and looked straight at where he’d just been.

“What is it?” Hagrid asked.

“Thought I heard something,” she said.

“Prob’ly a squirrel,” the gameskeeper shrugged.

“Big squirrel,” she replied. “But yeah, probably nothing.” They continued down the steps and up the path. “By the way, you planning on doing any hunting anytime soon?”

“Sure, why?”

“I’d love to come along, if you don’t mind some help,” she said. “A straight-up stalk and kill would be a nice change of pace.”

Hagrid laughed. “All right, then. Bring yer bow and meet me Saturday dawn.”

Whatever reply may have followed was lost on the breeze, as Severus Snape carefully took a different route back to the castle, pondering all he’d just heard. He ate his dinner in customary silence in the Great Hall, mindful of the empty seat next to him, and returned to his office as soon as he was done. Pulling out the scrolls of parchment from his pocket, he returned them to normal size and set them out to start grading, then leaned back into his chair, tracing his lips with a finger as he thought.

So. This strange American witch was here on a mission to save some student, some specific student, from nightmares that would not let her sleep and could not be stopped by means of normal potions. That explained her bizarre research, at any rate. Additionally, she had not known of her powers at all until six and a half years ago, roughly when Voldemort fell. She clearly thought that it would be obvious why this had happened and that it would explain her presence at Hogwarts now. He did not find it obvious at all. Most interestingly, she seemed to think she needed his help. While he was put out with the Headmistress for not confiding in him, apparently this bothersome woman was not at fault in this. Perhaps he should find a way to help her, without revealing what he knew, and learn more in the process.

She might be poor at subterfuge, but he most certainly was not. A plan began to take shape in his mind as he bent to correct the essays before him.

~ ~ ~

Several days later, Celia had just finished chopping the last of the valerian roots before her, when she heard a knock at her door. She glanced over and saw Professor Snape standing there. _Severus_ , she corrected herself. Who’d have thought it would be so easy to obtain his help? Considering how grumpy he’d been the last time they’d talked about her research, she figured it had to be an ego thing. Doing it herself? Bad. Need help from the big important Potions Master? Much better. Picking up her wand, she flicked it at the door absently and invited him in.

“You’re early,” she said with a smile then looked at the clock, “or rather, I’m running late. I’ve gotten a bit carried away with this. Please, have a seat. I’ll get the tea started and then just finish this up.”

“If you’d rather reschedule,” he said, “I completely understand.”

“No, not at all,” she replied, setting the teakettle to boil. “There’s only a bit left to this, and then it needs to sit awhile. Please, have a seat.” She returned to her counter, added the chopped valerian root and powdered asphodel to the wormwood infusion already in her cauldron, and placed a sopophorous bean onto the cutting board. She looked at it for a minute.

“Problem?” Severus asked from her kitchen table.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I just remembered there’s a better way to extract the juice from this, but I hadn’t tried it yet. It’s just at the edge of my memory, but I can’t quite find it.”

“Oh, that,” he said. “All you need to do is …”

“No, please,” she interrupted. “Don’t tell me. I’ve got to either remember it myself or at least remember where I found it.”

He subsided, looking at her curiously. She looked over his shoulder at a bookshelf behind him and drew her wand. “Now, which one was it … _Accio Moste Potente_ ... no, that wasn’t it, back you … that’s right, it was a margin note. _Accio Advanced Potion-Making_ ,” she cast, and an oddly asymmetrical book flew toward her. She caught it easily, opened the cover that looked rather too new for the rest of it, and flipped to page ten.

“That’s what it was,” she said. “I knew it was a matter of crushing it but couldn’t remember with what.” She sent the book flying back toward the shelf, but Severus caught it en route. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged, fished a silver dagger out of a nearby drawer, crushed the bean, and poured the juice into the cauldron that held the rest of her potion. She began stirring the mixture, seven stirs counterclockwise followed by one clockwise.

“How very interesting,” Severus said as he flipped through several pages. “Wherever did you come by this book?”

“When I was up here for the interview when I was hired, I told Minerva that I felt I could be more effective if I had a better sense of what my students were studying at the same time in their other classes. I had thought, perhaps, a listing of topics and schedules might be helpful.” Celia smiled and chuckled a little, still stirring as the contents of her cauldron continued to pale. _That much is true enough. He doesn’t need to know any more than that._ “I didn’t expect to end up with a complete library of all the books the students would be using. She brought me to this ‘Room of Requirement,’ told me how to activate it, and I found myself the proud caretaker of an awful lot of textbooks.” She waved at the shelf. “Most of them were new or had just been conjured fresh. This one obviously isn’t new at all, though it looks like someone tried to make it appear that way. It’s been a damn sight more useful than the rest.”

“I imagine it would be,” he murmured. She set the now-clear potion aside and popped a knot of ginger root into it. “What in the world did you do that for?”

“You didn’t think I was _actually_ making the Draught of Living Death, did you?” she asked. “While there is one pair of second year witches who might barely quiet down a bit with a drop or two of it, I’m not planning on putting anyone in a coma.” She thought he might have just suppressed a smirk. Well, the young ladies were probably nearly as bad in his class. Then again, they were still breathing, so maybe not.

“So what, then, are you trying to do?” he asked.

“It’s part of my research,” she replied, clearing away her work area. “And thank you for coming over to discuss it with me. I’d really like to hear your thoughts on it.” She arranged the teapot and cups on a tray with a few slices of nutbread and led the way to the sitting room. She was surprised that he brought the book with him and continued looking through it even as she poured his tea.

“Recognize the writing?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said dryly, “I should think so.”

“No surprise there, I guess,” she said. “Must have been one of your best students. Brilliant, obviously, not the kind of student you’d forget. Did he or she figure all that out for themselves, or were those suggestions you made?”

“Er, yes,” he replied. “I suppose you could say it was rather both.”

“A bit of both?” she echoed. “That makes sense. Not too many students would have sussed all that out entirely on their own.”

“Not a _bit_ of both,” he corrected her. “Celia, this was _my_ N.E.W.T. Potions book.”

Celia thought her eyes might actually bug out of her skull. “How interesting,” she said at last. “Any idea why it showed up in that room, then?”

“I imagine it had been hiding there for nearly eight years,” he said wryly. “The student who put it there probably ‘required’ that I not be able to find it, and so I never did.”

She blinked a few times trying to digest that. “A student stole your old Potions textbook and then hid it from you? Are they still doing detentions for that to this day?”

“Sadly, I did not have the opportunity to punish him appropriately at the time,” Severus replied with a quickly suppressed grimace. “However, you were correct that he spent much of his time as a student in detention for one thing or another.”

Celia clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle a giggle. When she thought she had control of herself, she asked, “I’m sorry, but … why on earth … hasn’t he returned it in the time … he’s been teaching here?” Several more giggles leaked through.

“A very good question that I propose to put to him at dinner,” he answered. He looked seriously annoyed with her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, fanning her face in some reflexive attempt to catch her breath. _Stop laughing. Stop laughing!_ “It’s just … I mean, I can see the appeal of using a book with such helpful notes in it, but it seems deeply stupid to steal something of yours. You’re not exactly known for being lenient. And now he teaches here, too, and he still hasn’t returned it? That’s just … that’s just not right.”

“He did not know it was mine at first. As for why he never bothered to return it, I’m afraid you would have to ask him,” he replied stiffly. “I know I intend to do so.”

“Well, I’m not the one owed that answer,” she said. “Anyway, at least you have it back now.”

“I’ve not had particular need of it,” he said. “You may continue to borrow it, if you like.”

“Thank you.” That was a relief. A little unexpected, but definitely a relief. “As I said, your notes have been quite helpful.”

The conversation moved to the intended topic of her research. She was surprised to find that he actually appeared quite interested in her work. Though she had to steer him away, several times, from the reason she was so focused on suppressing prescient dreams, he gave her several suggestions that she thought sounded very promising. Once she explained her reasoning for steeping a chunk of ginger in the Draught of Living Death, for example, he offered some ideas on how to prepare the resulting brew for the addition of her hybridized ingredients.

It really had seemed too easy to get his help. IRight up until he arrived she had still thought he might resent what she was doing and try to sabotage her. However, now that they were talking, really having an actual conversation, she found it almost impossible to distrust him. She checked her mental shields several times to see if he was influencing her somehow, but if so, then he really just was too good for her to detect.

After he had left, she thought about the change in him. _What brought that on? Or is it really a change? Was I just assuming things because of all the warnings everybody dumped on me? Okay, and that snarky letter he wrote?_ Maybe. However, she still planned to remain on her guard. She’d already demonstrated just a few days ago that her desire to clear the air with her colleagues could get the better of her and she had no intention of repeating that little performance.

~ ~ ~

Back in his quarters, Severus Snape contemplated what he’d learned from Reese this afternoon. She was clearly back on her guard, as she had dodged every question or comment that might have led to a discussion of the reasons behind her research. That was not surprising. In fact, it was part of the point. She probably thought she had not allowed anything at all to slip through since she had deflected all of the obvious bait. However, he had run a series of tests in parallel with their conversation and now knew that, while her range of hearing was the same as any human’s as far as pitch was concerned, she could hear things that were far too soft for an ordinary person’s ears. She did not appear to have seen any of the colors he’d cast over her tea set that were outside the human visual range, but unfortunately there had been no way to test her distance vision. He suspected that would match her hearing. There was one test he had not even needed to perform himself. _Advanced Potion-Making_ was a heavy book, and the Summoning Charm would not lighten it, but she had caught it as though it were no heavier than a scroll of parchment.

Then there was all he had learned about her already. She was not a werewolf but could make and had experimented with the Wolfsbane Potion. She had come into her powers when the Dark Lord had been vanquished while she was half a world away. She was, or at least believed herself to be, an accomplished Occlumens. Her research and her reason for being here had something to do with a female student she could not identify but expected to begin experiencing severe nightmares that would not respond to any known potion. That led back to the additional new bit of information: she still had these dreams and planned to test her experimental potions on herself. Rather interesting potions, from the sound of it. Steeping that ginger in the Draught of Living Death was something he would never have considered, but he believed her claim that it altered the potion to allow restful sleep with the ability to remain alert and wake oneself if necessary. It certainly would no longer put one into a potentially irreversible coma. He was less certain that her ideas for hybridized herbs to add to it were going to work, but at least he had been able to offer some suggestions that might increase the possibilities.

It was still not much to go on, but it was a start.


	4. Chapter 4

 

The way Minerva explained it, ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament ten years ago, students had expressed an interest in continuing to have dances at the school. The Muggle-born students had especially agitated for this, citing the dances held in Muggle schools and – more importantly – movies. So, in her second year as Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall instituted two annual dances: one just before the Christmas holidays and one on the weekend closest to Valentine’s Day. They had gone surprisingly well and thus had become an annual tradition. Hence the gown Celia had been told to bring. She figured she could just transfigure its color for the two events. Red could be Christmas or Valentine’s, so she went with green for Christmas. A simple strand of pearls and long white gloves trimmed in silver thread – and shoes to match – completed her look, she thought. She hoped. Even after talking with Aurora and Minerva, she wasn’t sure if this was really what was expected.

 _They said it sounded fine. Too bad the faculty don’t try out their outfits together like the students probably do. Feedback before I make an idiot of myself would be nice._

Wearing her hair down was the one decision she wasn’t questioning. Mostly she pinned it up to get it out of the way, but what was the point of keeping it long at all if you couldn’t let it loose for dressing up? A couple of combs kept it from falling into her face and several dollops of mousse should be enough to keep it from frizzing up halfway through the night. She forced herself to stop fussing with it as she made her way from her cottage into the castle.

When she entered the Great Hall, she gasped at the transformation it had undergone. The twelve giant Christmas trees had been there for a week, but now they were fully decorated and lighted with what appeared to be either very large fireflies or faeries. The walls were swathed in evergreen branches and holly, decorated in bows of each House’s colors, one wall dedicated to each. The House tables were lining the walls tonight, covered with an insane amount of food considering it was only two hours since dinner.

Many of the other faculty had already arrived except the Heads of the Houses. She supposed they had all sorts of last-minute problems to deal with. Hagrid was there, as were Septima, Firenze, Irma, and Poppy. She approached the dais that normally held the staff table a little nervously.

 _At least I’m early enough that I can fix this if anyone gives me weird looks._

“What a lovely color on you,” Poppy said by way of greeting.

“Thanks,” she replied with a sigh of relief. _Wait, the color’s okay, but does that mean otherwise it’s horrible?_ “It was kind of hard to be sure what would be appropriate. You don’t think it looks too young or … anything?”

“No, it’s fine,” the nurse assured her.

“That’s a relief. You look great, too,” she added belatedly. Poppy just smiled.

 _Good, now I only needed to worry about chaperoning – and possibly dancing. I wonder if I’m supposed to dance with Firenze or Hagrid. Or Filius, for that matter. They’re sweet, all of them, but how would that work? I’d probably embarrass myself and them while I was at it._

As she thought this, the doors of the Great Hall opened wide, and streams of students entered, led by their Heads of House. Her eyes went immediately to Aurora Sinistra, the next-youngest female faculty member, and she was relieved to see she was wearing a gown only slightly more concealing than her own. _And I see dress robes are almost as good as tuxes,_ she thought, catching her breath as her gaze settled briefly on Severus. _Or possibly better. Damn, that formalwear’s dangerous._ She tore her eyes away and forced her attention back to the doors, where Minerva was entering at last. When Severus stepped up onto the dais before her, she very deliberately avoided his eyes and offered a brief nod, which he echoed before turning in a swirl of robes to face the student body.

Minerva gave some sort of speech, but about what Celia had no idea. At least it was short. Then the music began and the faculty spread out to their assigned posts to keep an eye on the students. She noted with interest that Minerva was dancing with Harry and Poppy with Filius, who was using a levitation charm that canceled out the height difference. _Of course. I should have realized. Though I’m still not sure how anyone would manage to dance with Firenze._ After two songs, those four faculty members left the floor, and she found herself being invited to the floor by Hagrid. She accepted gracefully and wondered if she ought to put some sort of strengthening charm on her shoes.

Fortunately the music playing was a very slow waltz. Reaching his shoulder was out of the question unless she used a levitation charm herself, so she settled for his elbow. When it switched to a much faster two-step, she begged off.

“I – don’t think I know this one,” she said with a wobbly smile.

“Tha’s all righ’,” he replied with a wink. “Think I migh’ jus’ have a bit of a snack.”

He actually did walk over to one of the tables and grab some cakes. At least he didn’t seem offended. Walking back to her post, she wondered if that would excuse her from the floor for the rest of the night. _That’d probably be a good thing. Love the dancing. Less crazy for the music. And when the good stuff comes on later, I’m pretty sure it would be undignified for a teacher to be dancing._

She watched the students impassively. So far none of them had done anything that she thought required a reprimand of any kind. Most likely the mere presence of all the faculty was enough to keep them in line for now. _The real fun comes later. At least odds are none of them will go outside where I’ll be patrolling, because me dumping cold water on horny teens? Pretty ironic._ She shook her head at the thought.

“No? But I have not even asked yet,” Severus said. She turned to face him and flushed, looking down at her hands quickly. _And for my next act, I’ll hold a conversation with myself out loud in a crowded room._

“I was thinking about something,” she said, looking back up but still not meeting his gaze. “Sorry, what were you going to ask?”

“I was going to ask you to dance,” he said, his tone clearly conveying that she had just asked a question every bit as stupid as any he heard in his classroom.

“Oh,” she looked up. “Right. Sure.” She fixed a pleasant but neutral smile on her face and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. This was seriously dangerous. Why did he have to look so – well, handsome wasn’t exactly the word, maybe striking? She focused on controlling her breathing and her mind as he swept her into position for the Viennese waltz that had just begun. A jolt of static startled her as she set her hand on his shoulder.

“Lovely gown,” he said, making what she assumed was polite conversation as they started to dance. That was unexpected, considering that even during their more pleasant discussions of her research he wasn’t much for the small talk.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“Declaring yourself a Slytherin, are you?”

Startled, she looked up and caught his eyes. “Hardly,” she said with a little laugh. “Green seemed appropriate for Christmas and, you know, an herbologist.”

“I see.”

“Since it’ll be red and gold for Valentine’s, I guess that would be seen as a declaration for Gryffindor?”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand the importance you people put on House membership. Rivalries in the States tend to be between whole schools, not parts of them.”

He didn’t reply, and she pulled her eyes from his. No sign that he’d tried Legilimency on her, but there was no point in pushing it. She focused on the music and allowed her eyes to close. _I can’t believe he’s so graceful. I mean, it shouldn’t surprise me, considering the way he moves. But I never imagined him dancing till a few minutes ago when he was with Irma._ Even in this whirling dance, she could pick up his every cue literally with her eyes closed though she couldn’t quite say how. It was enjoyable. She imagined his robes and her gown as they must be swirling about them.

“It is generally considered polite to at least look at the person you are dancing with,” he said after a moment.

Her eyes flew open. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that you lead very well. With my eyes closed, it felt like we were dancing on the music itself.”

He raised his eyebrows but said no more until the song ended and he led her back to where he had found her.

“Thank you,” she said with a little bob that was about as close as she would ever get to a curtsey.

“You’re welcome,” he replied evenly with a small nod. She watched as he swept away from her and through the sea of students back to his position along the Slytherin side of the room. _And I’m supposed to make what of that, exactly? Just a mandatory faculty dance or what?_ She turned her attention to the students nearest her and schooled her features to as neutral a smile as she could manage.

~ ~ ~

Gazing impassively at the swarm of dancing students, Severus mentally added the new data he had collected on Professor Reese. She still avoided his gaze whenever she could. He did not believe that outrageous comment about “dancing on the music” for a minute. He did, however, think it would be a very bad idea to actually try Legilimency on her. Clearly she was afraid he would and would no doubt know it if he did. But to the list of her unusual abilities, he now added a rather amazing cardiovascular capacity. He had chosen the nearly frantic Viennese waltz for that reason, of course, and had taken _Eloquor Spirabilis_ so that he would not end up gasping for breath himself. She, he was quite sure, had taken nothing of the kind but had spoken and even laughed while they were dancing without seeming at all discommoded. Even now it looked as though she had done nothing more strenuous than walk across the room.

He noticed also that a strand of her hair had attached itself to his sleeve. _That could be useful to analyze,_ he thought, plucking at the sleeve as if fussing over it and transferring the hair surreptitiously to one of his pockets.

~ ~ ~

When he returned to the Slytherin dungeons after finishing his rounds, Severus bypassed the portrait that guarded his quarters and went instead into the Potions laboratory, warding the door shut behind him. Almost reflexively, he Summoned a cauldron and stirring rod onto his preferred work surface as he proceeded to his storage closet for the ingredients he would need. Once he had arranged the ingredients, he pulled out the hair and examined it. It was a long one, fortunately, and even more fortunately it had a partial follicle tag. A bit of flesh would be much more effective in one of the tests he had planned. It was also coated in some Muggle concoction, which he removed with a Cleansing Charm and a sneer. He stretched the strand out on his work surface and cut it into four equal pieces, which he then set carefully aside.

He meticulously weighed, sliced, chopped, ground, and finally added and stirred the first set of ingredients over a low flame. Once the brew had reached a creamy consistency and a vaguely blue-grey tone, he stood back to let it simmer and took a moment to remove his dress robe and frock coat. Even on the longest night of the year, even in the dungeons, standing over a potion for nearly an hour had him sweating. And students thought his classes were held here for the atmosphere. His hair, which he thought might have actually been passable for the dance, was once again hanging limply about his face. He grabbed a leather thong from his pocket and tied it back.

After fifteen minutes had passed, he returned to the cauldron and saw that the color had developed nicely to the precise shade of slate blue he wanted. Stirring slowly, he added the first piece of hair and watched intently. After nearly two minutes, he had to admit there was no change. Not only was she not a werewolf, which he had already deduced logically, but she was not any other type of animal-human hybrid nor even an Animagus. He picked up his wand.

“ _Evanesco_ ,” he cast with a note of regret in his voice, and the potion vanished. It would have been the simplest explanation, after all.

He donned his protective gloves and began the next – more volatile – potion immediately. Nearly another hour had passed before he was ready to add the second piece of hair to this mixture, which was a violently boiling acid green. Once he had added the hair, he took a prudent step backwards and waited for several breaths before approaching it. No change here, either. He sighed. He hadn’t really thought she was using Polyjuice, but he’d had to rule it out. After all, while whatever Celia Reese’s mission here was might be legitimate, she would not have been the first Hogwarts professor to be impersonated. He vanished the potion and started to work on the third.

This one took less time but required excruciating precision. Once the ingredients were prepared, he took a moment to strengthen the wards on his lab and added a silencing charm. Then he relit the flame beneath the cauldron and began.

In mere minutes it was ready, shimmering a pearlescent white. He added the piece of hair that had the follicle tag, stirring it in slowly, poised to get out of the way if the reaction were positive.

 _That’s … odd,_ he thought, as he watched the hair dissolve, leaving a trail of smoky grey behind it that swirled across the potion’s surface. He continued to stir, anticipating some sort of delayed reaction that never came. Had she been a demon, even part demon, the reaction should have been immediate and potentially explosive depending on the species. This, however, was unprecedented. _Human, then, but with just the slightest touch of … something. How convenient that she “does not know” her true parents._

He vanished the potion and began to work on the final test. He had thought it almost irrelevant, a habitual test more than anything, something left from his Death Eater days. There was a potion that would determine whether a potential recruit was actually Muggle-born and it had been used regularly to screen for infiltrators. Not that any Muggle-borns had ever tried to join up, to his knowledge. The young woman claimed not to know her heritage but for some reason referred to herself as Muggle- _raised_ , not _-born_. That was something she had clearly not intended to reveal in that interesting conversation with Potter last month, but he wasn’t sure why. What little she had said suggested a near certainty that she would, in fact, have been Muggle-born. So did she hedge out of a scientist’s need to say only what was certain, as would be consistent with what he’d observed in their discussions of her research, or because she knew or suspected otherwise? The potion would not tell him that, of course. However, now that the possibility that she had at least some trace of demonic heritage had been raised, well, perhaps the answer to this question might be of some use.

After more careful measuring, chopping, and stirring, it was ready. He added the fourth and last piece of hair to the simmering red broth-like potion. If she were a pureblood, it would remain as it was. If she were Muggle-born, it would turn a muddy brown. As he stirred, it began to darken. His eyes narrowed, and the crease between his brows deepened. The particular rusty shade it had turned indicated that she was a precisely half-blooded witch.

 _Interesting. But what does any of it actually mean?_ he thought as he vanished the potion and cleared away his tools and supplies. He glanced at the clock. Nearly four-thirty. Tomorrow morning most of the students would be leaving for the Christmas holiday, and he would have to deal with any number of problems with his Slytherins. He sighed and forced himself to let his questions go for now so that he could get at least a little sleep.

~ ~ ~

With a gasp, Celia sat straight up in bed, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. She swallowed several times and allowed her breathing to return to normal, then swung out of bed. Grabbing a piece of parchment and quill from her desk, she jotted down a quick note, threw on some clothes, and headed for the owlery. Once there, she glanced over the note one last time before giving it to one of the school owls with delivery instructions.

> _G._
> 
>  _The dreams have started again. I’m already here!_
> 
>  _C._

Satisfied that was the best she could do at this hour, Celia returned to her cottage. She briefly considered swinging by the hospital wing to see if Poppy had had any customers for Dreamless Sleep, then decided against it. If the girl had been activated tonight, the last thing she needed was one of her teachers running in half-dressed and asking about her. Grateful that she did not have any particular duties related to the students’ departure in a few hours, she sank back into bed.

~ ~ ~

The next afternoon, Celia was late arriving for lunch. She had skipped breakfast completely and stopped by the hospital wing to check in with Poppy on her way to the Great Hall. Despite the letter she had owled, she had a sinking feeling she knew why her dreams had returned: the girl she was here to guide and protect must have come into her powers. The message was as simple as it had always been. _“Please, get to Hogwarts and protect my baby,”_ the woman had said. Over and over and over. And over. Well, she was already here, so obviously something had happened.

Or was that really it? Most of the students had left for the Christmas holiday this morning. Maybe that was the key. The girl might be one of the few remaining at Hogwarts over the break. That would certainly narrow things down. There were only about a dozen students staying, and of the girls, there were three Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and one each from Gryffindor and Slytherin.

As she entered the Great Hall, she noticed that it had been changed again since the dance. The usual House tables were gone, and the staff table was no longer on the dais. Instead it was in the center of the Hall and set for all the remaining students and faculty to sit around it. The meal had already started, but there was an empty seat between Hagrid and a Hufflepuff second year. She made her apologies and slipped into the chair.

“Missed ye at breakfast,” Hagrid said.

“Mm,” she answered around a sip of pumpkin juice. “I got a bit of a late start.”

Hagrid’s eyes narrowed. “Ye don’ look like ye slept a wink.”

Celia smiled weakly. “You sure know how to make a gal feel good.”

“I didn’ mean …”

“I know you didn’t; I’m just teasing,” she assured him. “I’m sure most of us didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Hmph,” was all Hagrid said to that as he applied himself once more to his lunch.

The rest of the meal passed with moderate amounts of small talk. If nothing else, Celia managed to determine that Miss Boulstridge, the second-year Hufflepuff, had had a very good night’s sleep, thank you, was looking forward to Christmas, and was thoroughly intimidated by the prospect of any more personal conversation with her Herbology teacher.

Most of the other teachers appeared reasonably well-rested, she thought, though Severus was rather glaringly absent. Surely any trouble with his students had been resolved by now, as the three who had not left, one fourth-year boy, one fifth-year girl, and Lightfeather, were all here at the table. She shrugged mentally. He probably knew from experience what the dining arrangements would be and preferred to stay away. Even though she felt she’d come to know him a little better recently, there was no arguing the fact he was terribly standoffish, particularly with the students.

When lunch was over, Celia made to return to her cottage, but Hagrid waylaid her just outside the castle.

“Celia, are ye all right?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m fine, Hagrid. Don’t tell me I look that bad!”

“It’s just … well, I was out early this mornin’ and I saw ye rushing off to the castle.”

“Oh,” she said. “That.”

“Yes, tha’.”

“I was just off to the owlery.”

“At that hour?”

“Yes, well …” she looked around to be sure no one was nearby. “I had that dream, Hagrid. Same one that sent me here in the first place. So I reported in.”

“Have ye tol’ McGonagall?”

“Of course. And I checked in with Poppy. I thought for sure she’d have had a visit from our mystery girl, but so far, no.”

“What do you suppose, then?”

“Well, if she was activated last night, she hasn’t decided she needs Dreamless Sleep yet. Or maybe the dream just indicates she’s one of the seven girls who stayed for the holidays, even though she _hasn’t_ been activated yet. Or maybe … some other thing that I haven’t thought of.”

“This dream stuff’s pretty slippery, innit?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Even when they seem straightforward, half the time they’re just vague clues. Useful when you can figure them out, of course, but frustrating as hell when you can’t.”

They had reached her cottage.

“Hagrid, what did you think …”

“Well, that’s just it, innit?” he replied. “I couldn’t imagine what had ye tearing around looking like that so early. And then ye weren’ at breakfast …”

“No worries, Hagrid,” she said. “But if you were that concerned, you should have just checked with Minerva.”

“Hmph. Wasn’ sure that’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, doesn’ matter now,” he said, turning to leave. Before he had quite turned, though, Celia thought she saw a hint of a blush peeking out from just above his beard. “Jes’ glad to know ye’re okay.”

“See you later, then. And thanks.”

“Fer what?”

“For worrying. It’s kind of sweet.”

Celia was almost sure now that he was blushing. _Oh, boy. I hope he’s not thinking … I really don’t need any more complications right now._

Turning to open the door to her cottage, she noticed an owl perched in the branches of a nearby shrub. She let the owl in, dug around for an Owl Treat, and retrieved the letter from its leg. She read it twice before setting it down on the kitchen table, disappointed.

> _C._
> 
>  _Working on it. Stay alert. And discreet._
> 
>  _G._

With a sigh and an almost absent wave of her wand, she reduced the slip of parchment to ashes.

~ ~ ~

The next morning, Celia made it to breakfast in plenty of time. She sat next to one of the Ravenclaw girls and again tried striking up a leading conversation that ultimately led nowhere.

She periodically looked over at the Christmas trees in mild wonder. They looked exactly as they had since the dance the other night, but now she knew a bit more about the magic involved. Yesterday afternoon, she had persuaded Harry to accompany her to Hogsmeade so that she could find appropriate presents for the other faculty members who had remained. She’d been horrified to learn that the faculty and staff who stayed did, in fact, exchange gifts. The few jobs she’d held where gift-giving was done at all had always used either a Secret Santa or some other system that reduced the problem to coming up with just one gift for someone she barely knew.

Hagrid had been easy: his crossbow needed tuning, and she’d found the perfect kit at Dervish and Banges. After their conversation yesterday, she was a little concerned he might misinterpret the spirit of the gift, but it really was the perfect thing for him. The rest were getting stationery and quill sets, decorated for the appropriate House. In exchange for his assistance, she had tried to help Harry find a gift for his friend Hermione Granger. _I’m not sure anything I said was helpful, and I’m pretty sure that she’s not actually going to be ecstatic over a bunch of tricks from Zonko’s, but what do I know? At least he seemed happy with them. And he’s got a point about buying books for bookworms._

He’d been even happier to show her how the trees worked and looked way too amused as she’d placed her wrapped and addressed gifts each under the appropriate tree and watched in shock as they vanished. The gifts would, he’d told her, turn up at the foot of the addressees’ beds on Christmas morning. She shook her head as she thought of it.

An owl landing beside her coffee snapped her out of her reverie. She offered it a bit of bacon and slipped the parchment off its leg. She leaned back in her seat and unrolled the letter carefully.

> _C._
> 
>  _I warned you. W. says your aura shows signs of tampering, although she believes your secret is still safe. Inform Minerva but take no action yourself._
> 
>  _G._

Calmly, she rose and walked around to the head of the table. She handed the letter to the Headmistress and excused herself, saying there was something she needed to take care of.

“Certainly, Professor Reese,” McGonagall said. Then she read the letter. “Professor Reese,” she called out, “please wait.”

Celia had already left the Great Hall and ignored the Headmistress’ request as readily as she was ignoring the directive to “take no action.” _Take no action? Who does he think he’s kidding? If somebody around here has been “tampering with my aura,” then I know exactly who it is, and he’s going to explain himself._

There really weren’t a whole lot of likely suspects. Spells to spy on her wouldn’t leave that sort of evidence. But potions using some part of her essence? Oh, that would do it.

 _No physical violence,_ she told herself. _Probably shouldn’t hex him either. But he’s not getting away with this._ She considered and discarded a number of possibilities before she arrived. As she approached the public door to his office, she drew her wand and then pounded loudly.

~ ~ ~

Someone was pounding heavily on his office door. _Could they not last two days without some emergency?_

“Enter,” he called out without looking up from the essay he was grading.

Two feminine hands slammed down on his desk, one holding a wand.

“What the hell did you do?” she demanded.

He looked up briefly at the distraught Herbology professor, then returned his attention to the essay before him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied calmly.

“I’m sure you do,” she snapped. “Two nights ago, someone did a bit of magic that caused my aura to look visibly tampered with. I have a fair idea what and how, and you’re the only person here besides myself likely to know how to brew those potions.”

“And what potions would those be?” he asked, still writing. _And how, exactly, could she know that?_

“All I know for certain is you didn’t hit the right one,” she admitted, “so I’m actually pretty interested to know what you tried and what the hell you thought you were going to accomplish.”

Finally, he set down his quill and looked up at her. He was startled when she locked her gaze on his.

“I have not said I did anything of the sort,” he said, his eyes narrowing but not leaving hers. He was tempted to determine exactly how much she knew, or rather, how much she thought she did. However, there was the minor problem that she would most likely realize what he was about and might even be capable of blocking him. _In fact …_ “Though I am quite curious what you think _you_ are going to accomplish.”

“I’m not leaving this room without answers and an apology.”

“Then you are going to be in this room for a very long time.”

“I really doubt that.” She hadn’t released his eyes from hers, and her expression was so studiously blank it was obvious she was practicing an extremely rudimentary form of Occlumency with some effort. Small wonder, considering she was obviously quite upset.

“By all means,” he was saying, his voice low and dangerous, “try it. You really do not know who you are dealing with. I have stood before two of the world’s most accomplished Legilimens. Do you think you can do better than they? Or perhaps you are simply planning on a staring contest.”

Her fingers convulsed around her wand, and he wondered if she would actually attempt Legilimency on him. It might be amusing if she did, as he was quite certain she would not find what she was seeking or, indeed, anything at all. The Headmistress might be displeased, however. Unlike Albus, she had on many occasions expressed a severe distaste for the art and would probably overreact. He watched the set of Reese’s features shift ever so slightly just before she averted her eyes. He smirked.

“The fact that you invaded my privacy doesn’t justify me invading your mind,” she said. “But I still want answers and I still want that apology.”

“Yes, of course, it’s not that you cannot do it,” he sneered. “You are simply too noble. I’m quite certain you would have been an excellent Gryffindor.” _After her comment about inter-House rivalries, I trust she will realize that was not a compliment._

“I notice you didn’t try either,” she pointed out. “Funny, considering you were willing to analyze … what was it, by the way? Some of my hair, I’d guess. That’d be easiest. So, yes, you were willing to put yourself through what must have been hours of work to try and figure me out, but when I’m standing right in front of you, staring you down, you don’t even try to have a look in my head? As I understand it, that’s not very Slytherin of you. Maybe you should have been a Gryffindor.”

“I think,” came a voice from the doorway, “that I am quite glad neither one of you have ever been Gryffindors.” The Headmistress stepped into the room. “I am also glad that you have both showed at least some restraint. It would be most difficult to find replacements for either of you at this point in the year.”

Celia winced, clearly surprised to find Minerva standing there. No, there had been no sound to indicate her arrival, but then cats did have their ways of getting about quietly.

He pushed his chair back from his desk to stand.

“Remain seated, Severus,” the Headmistress continued. “And Celia, you sit down too.”

The younger woman complied as Minerva walked around to the side of the desk so that she could stare down at them both as if they were a pair of students she had caught throwing jinxes at each other in the hallway.

“I am very disappointed in you both,” she said. She held up a rolled-up bit of parchment and pointed it first at him. “Severus, did you or did you not perform experiments to learn more about Celia and her origins?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” he replied, allowing a slightly embarrassed tone to slip into his voice.

“If you had concerns about another member of the staff, why didn’t you simply bring those concerns to me?”

He did not answer right away.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

 _Quirrell? Lockhart? Lupin? Moody? Umbridge? Well, all right, everyone agreed about Umbridge. Still, really, woman, how many reasons do I need?_

“I thought I should have evidence before making any accusations,” he said at last.

“I see.” The rolled-up parchment swung to point at the Herbologist. “And Celia, why did you disobey a direct order to take no action beyond informing me of this problem?”

She winced again before she spoke. “I let my temper get the better of me, Headmistress.”

“I see,” McGonagall repeated. “I am glad to see you reined it in before doing something irrevocable.”

Silence fell as the Headmistress appeared to consider the situation.

“Severus, I am fully aware of Celia’s nature and her reasons for being here, and she has my full confidence. When it is time for the rest of the faculty to be made aware of these things, you will necessarily be the first to know.”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Now, will you please tell me, and Celia, exactly what sort of tests you did and why?”

With a much put-upon sigh, he described the four potions. When he came to the third, Minerva looked questioningly at Celia.

“That tracks,” Celia said. “I don’t entirely understand it, but … it makes sense that the result would be odd like that.”

 _She is not surprised. There is something vaguely demonic about her, she doesn’t quite understand it, and she is not surprised._

The Headmistress nodded and returned her attention to Severus, who continued. Celia appeared baffled when he explained the final test he had run.

“Why would you even care about that?” she asked. “I can see the others. Obviously I’d be a potential danger if I were a demon or a Polyjuiced imposter. Maybe not so much the animal thing. But what possible difference could it make whether I’m Muggle-born?”

He shrugged. “You had let it slip that you did not know your ancestry. And I confess it was something of an old, bad habit.”

Her eyes narrowed and he realized belatedly that he had quoted something she had said that day in Hagrid’s cabin. A foolish slip. She took a long, slow breath and said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to ask the result?” He knew it was not considered as important a matter in the Americas, but surely someone who knew nothing of her origins would be at least mildly curious?

“Why would I? It’s not like it would tell me anything meaningful about who my biological parents were.”

“Perhaps not, but I thought you might find it interesting to know that you are not, in fact, Muggle-born.”

She appeared stunned.

“I see,” was all she managed to say.

“You are, in fact, precisely half-blood,” he continued.

“That doesn’t exactly narrow things down, then,” she said with apparent difficulty. “Either parent could be magical or Muggle.”

“That is true.”

She appeared to give the matter some thought.

“I didn’t think I needed to know that,” she said at last, “but … it does at least answer some old questions. I’ll admit I’m grateful for that bit of information, but I’m still furious that you ran these tests without my knowledge or consent.”

“You would hardly have permitted me to run them if you were, in fact, hiding something.”

“That is _not_ the point …”

“Enough!” The Headmistress glared at them both. “Severus, I believe you owe Celia an apology.”

He glared at her as he said, “I apologize for violating your privacy.”

“Celia?”

She glared back at him. “I accept your apology.”

“Good,” Minerva said. “Now, one last item. While I cannot tell you the precise nature of Celia’s mission here, I have decided to tell you one part of it.”

Celia’s eyes widened at this.

Severus maintained his most studied blank expression.

“She is here to look after a specific female student who has yet to be identified. This student is as unaware of her special status as the rest of us are of her identity, and one of the first signs Celia expects is for the young lady to begin having recurrent nightmares that resist the usual potions to suppress them.”

“I see,” he said noncommittally. _That is not precisely news, though it does indicate the dreams are not the entire problem, merely a symptom._

“Ultimately, this student will need to learn to cope with these dreams, and that is part of the work Celia will undertake with her when the time comes. In the meantime, this is the reason behind her research.” She paused. “I understand you have been collaborating with her on that research, and I am asking you to continue to do so.”

Celia bit her lip.

“Yes, Headmistress,” he said.

“Do you think you can trust my judgment and refrain from any additional ‘research’ on her, Severus?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Celia, can you continue to work with Severus on this and keep better control of your temper?”

“Yes, Headmistress.” She swallowed, and he wondered what she had to be nervous about. “I do still think the other Heads of House should know at least this edited version.”

 _Ah. Well, that would seem prudent, or it would have in September. Now they will wonder why they were kept in the dark until the holidays. Better to wait until the student is identified, I should imagine._

Professor McGonagall looked at her carefully. “I will take your recommendation under advisement.”

Celia nodded, clearly realizing that was the best she was likely to get today.

“In the meantime,” McGonagall continued, “you will both hold everything we have discussed here in the strictest confidence.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” they said, nearly in unison and then glared at each other.

“Good, then I expect you both to get back to whatever you were planning to do today, and Severus, I expect to start seeing you at meals again.”

He only grunted in reply to this.

Celia nodded to McGonagall, turned, and left.

Severus looked down at the essay he had been grading briefly before setting it aside with a snarl. How had the chit learned of what he had done? How in Merlin’s name had Minerva become aware of it? He would never be able to pry that information from either of them now.

 _Damn them both for getting me to agree not to investigate her any further!_

That brought him up short. He had only agreed not to investigate Reese specifically. That actually left rather a lot of room for other research. Truly, if he were to be of any real assistance with her research, he should understand more of the implications for the student who would be in need of this experimental remedy. Any changes in metabolism would, of course, have serious ramifications in terms of the development of any potion.

Picking up his wand, he spoke the password that opened the tapestry leading from his office to his private quarters and wordlessly Summoned a book. Several disarming spells later, the book would no longer flood the room with toxic vapors when he opened it. He paged through the index until he found a handful of references to humans with “demonic qualities and/or heritage.” He skipped the first few sections. She spent far too much time in direct sunlight for anything there to be applicable.

~ ~ ~

The morning of Christmas Eve found Celia puttering around “her” greenhouse. She had finally sent off an exceedingly terse note after breakfast.

> _You’ve probably heard from M. by now. The situation’s under control. I told you this secrecy business would backfire._

Her continued attempts to draw the young ladies who had stayed for the holidays into conversation were clearly hopeless, she was still furious over what Severus had done and what she had almost done, and she was more confused than ever about what the recurrence of the dream meant. It had returned several times last night, disturbing her sleep and leaving her even more irritated than she would have been anyway.

Of course, this wasn’t the plants’ fault, and she was trying not to take it out on them as she repotted several bubotubers. As she set yet another newly repotted plant down, a small reddish-brown snake slithered out onto her work surface. Surprised, she picked it up and looked it over carefully. She shook her head.

“You do realize you should have stayed outside and hibernated, don’t you? There’s really not going to be many mice or bugs for you in here.” The smooth snake flicked its tongue at her. She sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll find you something. Goddess knows what you’ve been living on all this time. You should’ve been asleep months ago.” She chuckled softly and set it back down onto the table. It slithered over to another batch of potted plants, and she frowned when she noticed which ones.

Right. Two days until the full moon, so Severus was going to need the aconite and vinca today. Maybe she should just summon a house elf to bring one of the pots to him and then bring her a bit of raw meat for her guest. _Forget that. It’s not like the elves don’t have enough to do without me making more work for them. I should just deliver them and go to the kitchens after._ Her mind made up, she squared her shoulders, cast a quick cleansing charm on her hands and robes, donned her mittens and cloak, selected one of the pots containing the two plants, tossed a cloth over it, and headed out. The cloth was probably overkill for such a short walk, but oh well.

Once she was in the castle, she had to admit it had been a very good idea to shelter the plants. She felt just short of frostbitten from the few moments she’d been outside, and now, while it was nice to be out of the wind, she was wondering if she would thaw out any time soon.

 _Castles are all dramatic and romantic but even with magic they really don’t exactly stay warm._

As she turned into the hallway toward the dungeons, she was greeted by young Mr. Lightfeather, who was running in the opposite direction.

“Hi Professor!”

“Hello, Mr. Lightfeather. Where are you off to?”

“I’m supposed to go help Hagrid with something.”

She widened her eyes. “Well, get to it, then.”

She watched as he ran back toward the Entrance Hall. _He’s come so far. And what a difference when Jarvis isn’t around to torture him._ Something about that gave her pause, and she became thoughtful as she continued on her errand.

When she arrived at Severus’ office door, she knocked a bit more quietly than yesterday. There was no answer. She sighed and wondered where she ought to try next. She didn’t know where his private quarters were and doubted he would be in his classroom. He probably had another lab somewhere for his own work, after all, but she had no idea where that was.

 _Well, the classroom is pretty much the only place I can just up and leave the plants, and he’ll probably go in there sometime._

She barely gave a quick knock before opening the classroom door and walking in, so she was surprised to hear his curt “Enter” as she was already doing so. She only allowed herself to stop for a split second before continuing down the steps toward the front table where he was working over a large cauldron.

“Professor Reese,” he said, “to what do I owe this … pleasure?”

She set down the pot containing the two plants and removed the cloth that was covering them.

“I believe you will be needing these shortly. I needed to come into the castle anyway, so I decided to bring them.”

She paused, not expecting a response but also not sure how to say what she wanted to say next.

He nodded, then asked, “Was there anything else?”

“Yes.” She took a breath. “I encountered Mr. Lightfeather as I was on my way here, and he reminded me of something.”

A raised eyebrow was the only acknowledgement that she had spoken. He did not interrupt his stirring nor look away from the cauldron for more than a split second.

“I’ve always been very protective of children. I’ve even been accused of being a bit overprotective, especially of the smaller ones, and if I believe a child is being seriously threatened, there is very little that I won’t do to prevent them coming to harm.” _Insane mother bear on crack, according to … well._ He looked up at that. “You have the care of these children on your shoulders more than any of us except Minerva. I’m still seriously annoyed about what you did, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have done something similar in your shoes.”

He flicked a measuring glance at her as she continued. “I was warned before I came here not to trust you. However, from the first staff meeting, I have never seen any reason I shouldn’t. As you have helped me with my work, I felt we were building a decent professional rapport, which is why I felt betrayed by what you did the other night. I apologize for my … excessive response to that.”

He nodded guardedly.

“Why did you think you needed evidence just to raise a concern to Minerva?” she asked. “ _I_ would need evidence, but I’m new around here. _You’re_ the Deputy Headmaster.”

It took a moment for him to answer. “I have raised concerns about colleagues before. Those concerns have never been acted upon until damage had already been done.”

“I see.” She paused. Something about that felt ever so slightly off. “That’s not all of it, but I can see that’s all you’re going to say.”

He shot her a questioning look.

“Even without actively using Legilimency, I can almost always tell when someone is lying to me or even telling partial truths,” she said with a shrug. “Useful when students are trying to get away with some version of ‘a dragon torched my homework.’”

His eyes narrowed, and she felt an odd chill in his gaze. She shrugged again to shake off the odd feeling.

“Good day to you, then,” she said.

“Good day,” he replied, returning his attention to the Wolfsbane Potion.

She left the dungeons and headed for the kitchens, her mind already working over the question of what sort of meat a smooth snake might eat safely, or whether there might be a mouse or two around. What she was absolutely not doing was replaying the conversation she had just finished. Or if she were, it was only because Severus had looked at her very strangely, and if he were still nosing around after everything, well, that would be bad. Except for the part where she thought this secrecy bit was ridiculous. What had made him look at her like that? Why was she thinking about how he had looked at her at all?

 _Mice. Snake food. Kitchens._

She rolled her eyes, stopped in front of the painting that led to the kitchens, and tickled the pear.

* * *

A/N: Smooth snakes are smallish constrictors on the idea of the garter snakes one finds in the U.S. They actually belong in Southern England and are endangered, but stranger things have turned up at Hogwarts. If you’re curious about them, there’s more info at http://www.bbc.co.uk/nature/wildfacts/factfiles/280.shtml .

A/N 2: I originally thought the magical present-delivering Christmas trees were canon, but they’re not. If I’ve picked up the idea from some other fic, and you know which one, please let me know so I can give credit where it’s due.


	5. Chapter 5

 

On Christmas morning, Celia found herself with a dilemma. She had several presents at the foot of her bed, but was she supposed to open them right away? The students would, obviously, but what was expected of the faculty? On the one hand, she might look greedy if she opened them before breakfast and the others had not. On the other, if she didn’t open them, she might look ungrateful. Details like this really ought to be included in the nonexistent new faculty orientation, immediately after “how to control the staircases.”

Curiosity won out, and she rationalized that it would be better to appear overeager than ungrateful as she brought the gifts into her sitting room. She started with the gifts from her colleagues. Hagrid had given her a fletching kit that promised to improve the range of her crossbow. Harry had clearly taken the hint he’d pried out of her and spread it around, as she had chocolates from him, Filius, Irma, Poppy, and Aurora. No Cockroach Clusters, she noted with relief, though he had included a Sugar Quill in his own gift.

Severus’ gift was a small book on experimental Potions theory. It was one she had often seen referenced in her review of the literature but had been unable to find. Had she mentioned that? Perhaps. Whether she had or not, however, it was very thoughtful. She wondered when he had placed this beneath the tree and whether it was supposed to be a peace offering.

The Headmistress’ gift made her smile: a calendar with photos of rare plants for each month. Wizarding photos, of course, that showed changes of light, dark, and wind periodically.

Finally, she opened the present from her own teacher, wondering briefly how it had arrived. It felt rather heavy to have been sent by owl. She tore the paper and lifted the note off the box.

> _Thanks for the Sneakoscope Dreidel! That is such a cute idea! I hope this will come in equally handy._

Celia gasped as she lifted the cover. A Foe-Glass. Clearly her teacher was still concerned about what had happened. She had to confess, it would be interesting to see what it showed the next time she met with Severus. She winced when she thought about how much it must have cost. Yes, her teacher had married into money and didn’t tend to think much about it, but Celia felt her own Hannukah and Christmas gifts to the couple now looked horribly cheap by comparison.

 _Idiot. Like it’s a contest or something._

She looked over the sitting room for a good place to put it. There was one spot, visible from the kitchen as well as the bedroom, that looked as if it would be perfect. There was a small booklet underneath the Foe-Glass, explaining how to key it to oneself, how to mount it properly, and other useful information. She re-closed the box, resolving to read it thoroughly before doing anything with it. First, she’d better get to breakfast.

~ ~ ~

Breakfast on Christmas morning was pretty informal. The students drifted in and out, though there was always at least one faculty or staff member present. No one had spelled out a particular schedule for this to Celia, so she wasn’t sure exactly how this was supposed to work. When she arrived in the Great Hall, Harry was sipping his tea and reading a letter with a large snowy owl perched on his chair while a couple of students were nibbling at toast and talking animatedly about their gifts.

She took a seat and smiled as her cup filled with strong coffee, and eggs, sausage, and toast appeared on her plate. Her usual. The continual and casual use of magic here still often felt overwhelming to her, but she couldn’t deny that it was often very convenient.

“Merry Christmas,” she said to the table generally, then blushed as Harry and the students replied, “Happy Christmas.”

“Right, I’ll get the hang of this whole ‘separated by a common language’ thing yet,” she said in a tone she hoped was lighthearted.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I think a little variety spices things up a bit.”

Celia smiled and took a large sip of her coffee before beginning her breakfast. She waited until the students left before speaking again.

“Thanks for the sweets,” she said.

Harry smiled. “Thanks for the writing set.”

She laughed a little. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with something more original.”

“No, it’s perfect,” he replied. “Why do you think I suggested it?”

They fell into a companionable silence until another pair of students arrived.

“Well,” he said, “I’d best go check on the Gryffindors and see what trouble they’re up to. Your turn to mind the breakfast table, then.”

Her eyes widened. “So are there some sort of shifts nobody bothered to explain?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. “It’s your turn until the next faculty or staff member arrives.”

“Oh, okay then,” she said, wishing she had brought something to read. “See you at dinner. Happy Christmas.” This last was directed to the next cluster of arriving students.

“Stick to your usual,” Harry said with a smile. “You sound like you’re trying too hard.”

She rolled her eyes at him. _Comparing gifts has to be way higher on their priority list than analyzing what I say._ Then again, maybe that was his point.

Once she had finished her breakfast, she found herself sorely wishing she’d brought the booklet about her new Foe-Glass or maybe the potions theory book or really anything at all to read. _Well, I could try Summoning one of them, but with my luck, it’d go straight through a window or something._ Instead, she contented herself with sipping at her coffee and watching the students’ animated faces until Poppy Pomfrey arrived and took the next “shift.”

~ ~ ~

Christmas dinner was enjoyable enough, he supposed, once the students finished pulling crackers and devouring everything in sight and left to go play with their new toys or whatever it was they did. Not that he was overly fond of socializing at length with his colleagues, but after an hour or so of drinks and inane conversation, most of them had wandered off to visit whomever it was they all went to visit, leaving him in relative peace. With so few students about, he did not even particularly worry about patrolling, unless he wanted to. The ghosts could keep an eye on things and let him know if anything required his attention. It was something to look forward to, and for now, at least, the students had gone.

He barely registered most of the conversations around him, once he had got through the requisite “thank yous” and “you’re welcomes” related to everyone’s gifts. Mostly.

“Had I mentioned that I’d been having a hard time finding that book?” Celia asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “Once or twice.”

“Well, it will be very helpful, I’m sure. Thank you,” she said. She looked as though she wished to ask him something else but thankfully did not.

She did, however, excuse herself almost as soon as Filius had left, even though he knew she was not planning to leave the school. Reflexively, he almost considered investigating but then recalled Minerva’s edict. Fine. After the holiday was done, however, he could make it a point to speak with her, and perhaps they could resume what was apparently becoming a collaboration on her experimental potion. And he would have his eyes open.

~ ~ ~

Two mornings later, there was a knock at his office door just as he was preparing to leave for breakfast. He turned from the portrait that led directly to the hallway and went instead through the tapestry that led to his office. When he opened the door, he was startled to see young Mr. Lightfeather with Miss Hollingberry of Gryffindor in tow.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here, Mr. Lightfeather?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you both be on your way to the Great Hall?”

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” Lightfeather replied. “I just wanted to ask you … well, you said tomorrow we could do some more practicing with defensive spells after Christmas was done, and I wondered if Gwen could join us.”

Severus looked down at the tiny blonde. She was staring at her shoes and trembling slightly.

“And is there some reason why Miss Hollingberry cannot approach her own Head of House, who happens also to be this school’s Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor?”

The girl’s flush told him all he needed to know. How incredibly … silly.

“I see,” he continued before either could respond. “And why do you require this additional tuition, Miss Hollingberry?”

“I … I don’t really know, sir,” she stammered, a hint of tears in her voice, and turned to leave. “I’m sorry.”

Lightfeather held on to her hand, rendering her unable to actually leave. Severus found that both compelling and disturbing.

“Sir, only she’s so afraid all the time. She didn’t grow up with magic, you see, and we won’t even start learning any of the things you taught me until the second term in class. So I thought maybe she wouldn’t be so scared if she knew she could block things if anyone ever really did try to hurt her,” the boy explained. “She wouldn’t be any trouble, I promise, sir. You’re already teaching me, so I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind showing her, too?”

Severus leaned back against his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. There truly ought to be some rule about springing bizarre ideas upon one’s Head of House before breakfast. He would have to propose one.

 _Afraid all the time?_

“Miss Hollingberry, are you by any chance suffering from recurrent nightmares of some sort?” he asked.

“N-no, sir,” she replied. “I mean, I had a few when I first got here, but Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion that made them go away, and after a couple of weeks they stopped.”

 _So, whatever else may be going on here, she is not the mystery student._ He pondered how to handle the situation and briefly longed for the days when he could have simply ordered them both to leave and cease wasting his time.

“Miss Hollingberry,” he said at last, “do you realize the trouble this might well bring you?”

“S-sir?” she asked.

“Your fellow Gryffindors would no doubt consider it a personal affront if they were to learn that you had passed over your own Head of House to request the assistance of the Head of Slytherin, not to mention what they would most likely think of your apparent friendship with Mr. Lightfeather.”

“I … I can be friends with who I want, sir,” the girl replied.

 _So, she does have a bit of a spine, then. That will bring her trouble if she does not have the skills to go with it. However …_

“I did not say otherwise,” he replied. “I am merely pointing out that while inter-House rivalries are not remotely what they once were, you should be aware of the potential problems if you pursue this course of action.”

He watched with interest as the girl straightened her shoulders slightly and set her jaw.

“If they want to pick on me for being friends with Colin, they’ll do it anyway,” she said.

 _She has a point. Very well, then._

“Mr. Lightfeather, while prejudice against Muggle-borns is no longer sanctioned in Slytherin House, you may also find yourself at odds with your housemates regarding your friendship with Miss Hollingberry.”

“They don’t seem to care,” the boy said. “But if they do, well, I can be friends with who I want, too.”

With a nod, Professor Snape turned his attention back to the young witch.

“You will first approach your Head of House, Miss Hollingberry. As a matter of professional courtesy, the professors in this school do not teach one another’s subject matter without good reason.” He looked down his nose at Mr. Lightfeather. “In the case of a student from my own House, it was entirely at my discretion to choose to tutor Mr. Lightfeather, and I simply notified Professor Potter of this. Your situation is entirely different, and you will first ask for the assistance of your own Head of House. If he does not wish to tutor you himself or does not have the time to do so, you may, with his knowledge and permission, accompany Mr. Lightfeather to his tutoring sessions.”

“Thank you, Professor Sn …”

He held up his hand.

“If you do join us, I will not be increasing the length of these sessions, nor do I intend for Mr. Lightfeather to sit through a repetition of all he has already learned in the past two months. Therefore you will read the relevant sections of your Defense text and observe for the first two sessions before attempting to participate. Do I make myself clear?”

Both children bobbed their heads. Miss Hollingberry’s face was once again quite red. He raised his eyebrows and looked down at them.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

He let out a resigned sigh.

“Get to breakfast, both of you,” he snapped. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t walk about holding hands like that. You are only eleven and twelve.”

After a flurry of “no, sir,” “yes, sir,” and “thank you, sir,” the pair finally left. Severus stared at the door for several moments, wondering just what exactly had possessed him to agree to this at all.

~ ~ ~

Later that afternoon, Celia was just finishing repotting the Venomous Tentacula when she heard the door at the other end of the greenhouse open. She glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see Severus striding toward her.

“Good afternoon,” she said absently, turning her attention immediately back to the temperamental plant. She patted a bit more soil down firmly and set it to one side before turning to deal with her visitor.

“Good afternoon,” he replied.

“Was there something in particular you wanted?” she asked.

“Yes. Now that the holiday is past, I thought we could speak about …”

“Excuse me,” she cut in, turning toward the motion she had just seen on her workbench and grabbing for it. She turned back to him holding the little reddish-brown snake. Awkwardly, she fished for her wand and Summoned a covered basket. As she lowered the snake into it, she said, “For the last time, that is not a bunch of other snakes for you to play with. It is a plant that will gladly eat you for lunch. So until I can figure out how to stop you going after it, I guess you’ll have to stay in here.” She closed the lid and shook her head. “Foolish thing. I’m sorry, you were saying?”

Severus just looked at her oddly.

“What, you’ve never seen anybody talk to a snake before?” she asked.

“Not in English,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” _Think before you speak much?_

“You keep a snake?”

“Not exactly. It apparently decided to winter over in here, instead of going into hibernation when it should have. I only discovered it on Christmas Eve.”

“I see.”

“I used to keep snakes when I was younger. Corn snakes. I’m not sure how different this type is, but I’m pretty sure it would just die if I put it outside now. Considering it seems determined to commit suicide by plant, maybe that’d be worth the risk.” She shook her head. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“What? Oh, yes. I had planned to ask you at lunch when you would like to resume work on that potion of yours; however, you were not there.”

“Is it that late already?” She pulled off one of her protective gloves and looked at her watch. “I guess it is. Quite a bit past, in fact.” She thought for a moment. “If you have a bit of time now, why don’t you come in for a cup of tea, and we can talk about it then.”

“That would be acceptable,” he replied.

She pulled off the other glove and tossed them both on top of the basket, picked up her wand and tucked it away, then led the way through the doorway that led directly into her kitchen. Pulling her wand back out and giving it a few flicks, she set water to boil and Summoned the tea set onto the counter. Severus hung his cloak on the hook by the door as he entered. She waved him to his usual seat as she stepped into the sitting room to Floo the elves for sandwiches and cookies. They giggled at her request, as they always did, but she just couldn’t order biscuits without expecting a side of gravy to go with them. At least they had gotten over punishing themselves for it.

As she turned to go back into the kitchen, she glanced quickly at the Foe-Glass. Cloudy, but empty. Well, that was good to see. If Severus were her enemy in any sense, she should have seen his image there.

The water was just beginning to boil as she returned to the kitchen. She set the tea to steep, picked up the tea tray, and gestured for Severus to join her in the sitting room. Once they were seated, she said, “So, now we can dispense with the polite fiction that you agreed to help me out of sheer intellectual curiosity.”

“Indeed.”

“Not that I believed that,” she continued. “It was obvious that you were looking for information. A little too obvious, actually. But I can’t deny that you’ve given me some very useful ideas, starting with the one that launched this project in the first place.”

The tray she had ordered from the kitchens appeared on the coffee table. She offered it to him, and he selected a sandwich before saying, “I truly never intended that remark as advice.”

“I didn’t suppose you had. However, it was about the only thing that hadn’t been tried. The best I had managed prior was the Living Death variant, and all that accomplishes is the ability to become lucid in the dreams and choose to wake up from them. There’s therapeutic value in that, but it’s still a long way from a solution.”

“You ought to come up with a new name for it, you know. It’s sufficiently different that it is misleading to simply call it a variant.”

She shrugged. “It’s not a priority.” Deciding the tea had steeped long enough, she poured two cups and handed one to him. He accepted it and glanced up at the wall that held her Foe-Glass.

“That’s new,” he said archly.

She chuckled. “A Christmas gift from the person who discovered your research. Or, at least, discovered that someone had been poking around my essence somehow. Apparently she decided I could use the help.”

“I see.”

“Actually, the point is that there is nothing to see in it right now.”

“Are you sure you’ve charmed it properly?”

“Are you saying you ought to show up in it?”

“I am not saying anything. It was a simple question.”

“Yes, I am quite sure I have charmed it properly.”

“Hmm.”

Quiet fell as both nibbled on sandwiches and sipped tea, and when the conversation resumed, it focused on Potions theory and plans to test the latest batch of hybridized herbs when they matured in a few weeks.

~ ~ ~

 _Two days later_

“Are you completely mad? If you add the bearweed/milfoil cross first, then all this … mint soup that follows will negate everything you were hoping to accomplish by hybridizing it in the first place.”

“It needs to simmer far longer than the mugwort and the spearmint, which are not ‘mint soup’ and will lose their protective and strengthening qualities if they go in first.”

“Not if you add diced silverweed.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

~ ~ ~

 _Five days later_

“I don’t suppose you considered the possibility that the crushed aneton seeds will simply evaporate if you do not reduce the heat before adding them, while reducing the heat would cause the rest of your ingredients to congeal into a pile of useless sludge?”

“That would be the reason for the ‘insufferably complex stirring pattern’ at that stage. The Arithmantic pattern derivation came almost directly out of _Potions Development Theory_. You remember … the book you gave me?”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of books, didn’t you say you have the cover that belongs to your _Advanced Potions_ book attached to the book _this_ cover belongs to?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t you mention something about bringing it today?”

“I may have done.”

“Is there some reason not to switch them back?”

“I suppose not.”

“So, are you going to remember to bring it next time?”

“Perhaps.”

“Now who’s hiding something?”

Silence.

“Fine. I will bring it next time.”

~ ~ ~

 _One week later_

“You do realize there is absolutely nothing more we can do with any of this until the bloody plants mature, Severus.”

“Yes, but the Headmistress wishes to see us continuing to work on the project.”

“I’m fairly certain that the Headmistress is aware that plants can only be magically hurried to a certain point without losing the very properties for which they are grown.”

“When you’ve known her for more than thirty years, I will take your assessment of her patience seriously.”

“Oh. Well, then, there is always the second potion for actually working with the dreams.”

“And what is that one supposed to accomplish?”

“Ummm … let’s say you needed to be able to share the content of a prophetic dream with one or more people, directly, without the use of Legilimency or a Pensieve.”

“And why would those tools be unavailable?”

“Can you just trust me that there are situations in which they are?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not so much.”

“And how is this potion supposed to accomplish this?”

“It has to give the ability to project images and sound. I’d say ‘like a hologram,’ but that probably wouldn’t mean much.”

“Wouldn’t a charm work better for this?”

“Probably, but that isn’t an option, either.”

“Why ever not?”

“I really can’t say.”

“I think I liked it better when you had to at least pretend to come up with an answer. At least that was amusing.”

“The students are coming back tonight. I’m sure they’ll be happy to amuse you.”

Silence.

“So what were you planning for the base of this potion?”

~ ~ ~

The return of the students and resumption of classes necessitated a return to only weekly meetings over tea, but then there wasn’t much more to discuss about the dream-blocking potion, and less to work with for the dream-projecting potion. Meanwhile, the much-rested students were providing additional challenges.

The term was barely into its second week when Celia, hurrying on her way to the weekly staff meeting, was startled to hear sounds of hexes being fired back toward the main entrance. She followed the noise and discovered the culprits to be Messrs. Jarvis and Lightfeather, surrounded by several other students. Lightfeather was deflecting Jarvis’ spells pretty well and not firing off any of his own, so for a moment, she considered letting them just have it out. Then she saw a Tripping Jinx ricochet onto one of the spectators.

“That’s enough,” she called out, storming forward through the watching students. “Break it up, now!”

Jarvis fired off one last spell, and time suddenly slowed to a crawl. Lightfeather turned toward the sound of her voice, shifting his wand arm and the angle of the shield spell he was using. Jarvis’ spell glanced off the canted shield and ricocheted almost straight up, where it collided with a second-floor staircase that was in the middle of shifting to a new position. The hideous sound of shattering stone assaulted Celia's ears and, as she watched in horror, the stone staircase swung down, dangled precariously, and plummeted toward the two boys.

“Move!” she yelled, then ran to the boys, who appeared frozen in fear, and pushed them out of the way. The staircase landed behind her with a crash that felt as though it shook the castle's very foundations. She turned and was shocked to see that it had landed on end, cracks running through it, and was beginning to topple lengthwise toward the students on the far side of the hall. Without time for thought, she ran underneath the leaning structure and caught it before it could complete its descent.

“Move!” she repeated, this time to the shocked children behind her. “I said move, now! Clear this hallway!”

A few students shook out of their stupor and began to leave, dragging their friends with them, just as several other faculty members arrived to investigate the noise. As quickly as she could, she walked her hands along the stairs and her feet backwards along the floor, easing the staircase down as she went, until finally she reached the end and lowered it to the floor with an almost gentle thud.

She turned to see who had arrived. Minerva, of course, and Severus, with Filius and Harry not far behind. Soon it seemed that the rest of the faculty was clustering behind them in an odd visual echo of the now-scattered students. Celia looked at Minerva and winced.

“Professor Reese, what on Earth happened?”

“Dueling students,” she replied simply. “Well, Jarvis firing off spells and Lightfeather just trying to block them. One ricocheted and hit this staircase,” she gestured to the fallen stone structure, “while it was moving, and it fell. It would have landed on the students who were watching the altercation.”

“I see.” The Headmistress considered for a moment. “Professor Snape, Mr. Filch, please see what you can do about this … rubble. Professor Reese, please join me in my office where we can discuss this further. The rest of you, please return your students to your classes and try to conduct them as usual. Whoever has Mr. Jarvis and Mr. Lightfeather this period, please send them to me.”

The crowd dispersed as everyone followed her instructions. Severus gave Celia a long, measuring look before turning to Filch and joining him in assessing the damage.

~ ~ ~

Once they were seated in the Headmistress’ office, Celia allowed herself to realize how sore she was. She rubbed at her arms absently.

“Are you hurt?” McGonagall asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “Just a few strained muscles. I’ll be fine.”

“When you are finished here, you should see Poppy.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Please do so anyway.”

Celia nodded and waited anxiously to hear what would come next.

“First, thank you,” Minerva said. “I gather we would have been sending Poppy several badly hurt children, or worse, if you had not acted.”

Celia nodded again.

“But now I must ask: why did you not use magic?”

Celia looked down at her lap and then back to her employer.

“It wasn’t my first instinct,” she admitted. "It is so deeply ingrained in me to use magic only when there is no other way, especially when there are others around. It might actually have been better if they’d hit a different staircase, higher up. If it had been going to explode into shrapnel, magic would have been my _only_ recourse. As it was, once it hit and started to lean, on some level I knew I could ease it down physically, so that was my gut reaction."

Minerva sighed. “I don’t know how we can explain this away,” she said. “Quite a few students and most of the faculty saw you holding a staircase, which, unless I miss my guess, would have been difficult for Hagrid to support.”

“That’s true.” Celia thought for a moment. “I’ve had similar things happen around Muggles. They’re actually easier; they’ll convince themselves of almost anything to avoid seeing something that doesn’t fit their expectations.”

“Wizarding children, on the other hand, are far less likely to do so, to say nothing of the faculty and staff.”

“Well, if we’re still going to keep this all secret, then I’d say something true but misleading is probably the way to go …”

Minerva narrowed her eyes.

“Not the truth about me, or only the least significant bit, just things that are true and lead to reasonable conclusions. First of all, the whole truth about the hexing that caused the accident. Maybe _that_ will discourage the next foolish students who decide to duel in the halls.”

Minerva nodded, though her expression was dubious.

 _I guess that might be kind of asking a lot._

“Then, as far as my response, we can use two facts. First, until coming to Hogwarts, I’ve been accustomed to being almost continually among Muggles, and so my first instinct was not, unfortunately, to reach for my wand. Second, there are many documented cases of women performing astonishing feats of strength to protect or rescue children, usually but not always their own. It’s not a huge stretch that a childless teacher might manage the same sort of maternal protectiveness toward her students. And it is true, even though it has nothing to do with what happened today. _But_ , letting it get spread around will lead to a logical connection. Some of the Muggle-born students may have heard and might share similar stories about mothers lifting automobiles off their kids and whatnot, which would help.”

“That may work for the students,” the Headmistress pointed out, “but what about your colleagues?”

“Well, Severus already knows there’s something odd about me, so this is just one more bit of proof. You’d be a better judge than me whether the rest will buy this diversion or will at least pretend to, knowing that you are obviously okay with it.”

Minerva became thoughtful. “I will take your recommendation under advisement and let you know what I decide. For now, though, I want you to see Poppy. Surely women who lift automobiles off of children suffer from bruises and other injuries after the fact.”

Celia looked down at her unblemished hands and arms. She concentrated briefly. Her hands and wrists became mottled in bruises, and her robes developed a ragged tear along one shoulder. “Will that do?”

“You might add one along your cheek,” advised the former Transfiguration professor. Celia complied, adding a scrape along the cheek adjacent to the tear in her robes. “You can remove them once you reach the hospital wing. Poppy would be able to tell they are not real.”

Celia rose to leave.

“Please send up Messrs. Jarvis and Lightfeather,” said the Headmistress, as Celia turned to leave.

“Minerva, I know I only arrived at the end,” she said, “but I would like to reiterate that I only saw Mr. Jarvis casting spells at Mr. Lightfeather, and Mr. Lightfeather shielding himself.”

“I know. However, I shall want to hear all of it from both of them before rendering any decisions.”

Celia nodded and exited. As she made her way to the moving staircase, she began to hold one of her wrists as though it pained her and tested to see whether she could feign a convincing limp. When she reached the gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs, the two boys were standing there, waiting anxiously. They looked at her with expressions that were a mix of awe and fear, and in the case of Lightfeather, guilt. She glared murderously at Jarvis but took pity on Lightfeather.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Madam Pomfrey will have me fixed up in no time. However, you two had best get up to Professor McGonagall. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

The boys stepped onto the staircase, which began to rotate as soon as they were on it, cycling them up to the office. Celia started off down the hall toward the hospital wing by a route that used only staircases that remained firmly in place along the castle walls, limping slightly and cradling her right hand. She encountered only a few students before she reached the hospital wing, and had no doubt they would add her “injuries” to the tales that were no doubt already circulating and growing.

~ ~ ~

The following afternoon, Severus kept his appointment with Celia for their weekly tea and collaboration. He was, of course, primarily interested in the previous day’s events.

“You seem to be healing quite remarkably,” he said in a casual tone.

“Poppy is very good at what she does,” she countered.

“I find it truly amazing that she managed to reattach your arm, mend your skull, and have you back in perfect condition in time for dinner last night.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” Celia appeared amused. “I’m surprised it hasn’t escalated to a near-death experience yet. Oh well, give it another day or two.”

“I have also heard more tales about the amazing feats of women lifting large objects in the defense of children than I would ever have dreamed possible.”

“Oh? Well, that’s good. They seem to have the sense not to talk about it in my classes, so I wasn’t sure. I’m glad to hear that the supporting evidence is flowing as freely as the gossip.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. He had not expected her to admit to the deception quite so blatantly.

“What?” she protested. “I didn’t expect you to buy it in the first place. I don’t really expect that most of the faculty and staff really do, but obviously you wouldn’t.”

He nodded, conceding the point. He had been aware she was uncommonly strong but had still been taken aback by what she had done. He and Minerva had arrived just as she yelled for the gathered students to leave and he thought his heart might have actually skipped several beats at the sight of this young woman being crushed under the stone staircase before his mind finally processed what he was actually seeing.

“I think it does strain credulity to compare moving a one-ton object off the ground to catching a one-ton object as it falls,” he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I didn’t catch it as it fell,” she said. “One end had already connected with the floor before I looked back and saw how it was going to land. If most of the force hadn’t already been absorbed by that first impact, I’m sure I would have been squashed like a bug.”

“Pleasant image,” he said, suppressing a most uncharacteristic shudder.

“Not particularly,” she replied. “So, are we going to rehash this all afternoon, or shall we talk potions?”

He felt oddly relieved by the change in subject. While the incident had made him more curious than ever about just what, exactly, this woman was, something about it all was disturbing him on a level he did not care to experience much less examine.

He set with relish to the much more familiar and less fraught task of demolishing her latest propositions. _A potion to cause a person to be able to project visual images into the air for others to see? Ridiculous._

It would be useful if she continued to come up with these absurd notions, however, as it would be several more weeks before the hybrid plants would be ready for the first trials in the far more realistic, but still highly unlikely, potion to suppress prescient dreams. If Minerva did not continue to receive updates on their progress, and he had no doubt she was asking them both separately, she would surely start hounding him to speed the process, which was already progressing at the fastest possible rate.

 _If it were possible to hasten things, I certainly would. I cannot wait until that first potion either fails, as it almost certainly must, or even succeeds. These meetings have become a waste of time, for all that they keep Minerva pacified. Add in the time I now spend tutoring Lightfeather and his little friend – also Celia’s fault, by Merlin’s beard! – and it is no wonder I have barely finished reading half of last month’s_ International Journal of Potions _. The sooner this foolishness is finished, the sooner my life can return to some semblance of normalcy._

He took a sip of his tea and wondered briefly if the house-elves might start serving some of these blends she used. They did tend to grow on one, and he rather thought he would miss them once these meetings finally became unnecessary.


	6. Chapter 6

